


Bad Intentions

by PardonMyManners



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Dating, Drama & Romance, F/M, First Dates, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Lots of Cursing, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-02 02:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6546145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PardonMyManners/pseuds/PardonMyManners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You are not allowed to represent our country without seeing Star Wars. It’s sacrilegious.”</p><p>Steve eats another massive bite of sushi, somehow managing not to dribble soy sauce everywhere and chuckles, the sound muffled. “Well, maybe you can do the honors. I wouldn’t want to let the American people down. “</p><p>A flush of pleasure washes through her. “It’s a good thing I am so patriotic.”</p><p>Something flashes in his eyes that reminds her lady parts that they exist again and he says, “A very good thing.”</p><p>--<br/>In which Natasha plays match-maker and Darcy has an existential crisis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a one-shot... but then things got out of hand. Likely a two-three parter.

“Wait, hold on. You want _me_ to go on a _date_ with Captain _fucking_ America?”

Natasha Romanov nods sharply. Her eyes are deadly, deadly serious: like if knives had eyeballs deadly.

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that like… desecrating a bald eagle or something?” Darcy sputters.

She has a full cup of Starbucks in her hand and she quickly drains half, sure her caffeine-deprived brain is hearing things. Darcy looks past the other woman’s shoulder into the empty lab, hoping for some means of escape and knowing she is on her own.

Natasha rolls her eyes and Darcy realizes she can count the number of conversations she’s had with the Black Widow on one hand. None of them had been particularly comfortable or pleasant. Several had included blood and lots and _lots_ of guns.

“We have it from reliable sources that Steve Rogers is not a virgin.”

Darcy chokes and sputters, dribbling coffee all over her favorite The Clash t-shirt.

“Y-you want me to _s-sleep_ with Captain America? Dude, prostitution was totally _not_ in my contract.”

Natasha smirks, the most human expression Darcy has ever seen on her beautiful, terrifying face. “I’d be surprised if Steve managed to do more than kiss your hand, Miss. Lewis. Deflowered, yes. Confident, _no_.”

“This sounds like a really bad idea. And this coming from a girl who once thought running around New Mexico with a clearly unstable scientist seemed like a solid career path.”

The Black Widow gives an exasperated sigh, as if Darcy is an unruly child who doesn’t want to share and play nice with the other children. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t be willing to spend a night out with Captain _fucking_ America?” she mocks. “Eating free dinner and drinking fine-”

“Wait, did you say _free_?”

-

Natasha ‘suggests’ she wear red and Darcy enjoys having a pulse enough to comply.

To be fair, she looks _damn_ good in red.

Her skinny jeans and V-neck red shirt with matching fiery pumps seem safe enough… maybe? The date could end with her running for her life, in all honesty, so she stuffs a pair of ratty Converse in her purse, just to be safe. They should hand out safety tips for anyone stupid enough to date an Avenger.

On the cab ride over -–to Brooklyn of all places-- she considers, definitely not for the first time, how fucking _weird_ her life is. She’s been set up on a blind date with Steve Rogers, otherwise known as Captain America, otherwise known as Star-Spangled-McStudMuffin. She wonders if he wears his suit under his clothes like Superman in the comics. She wonders why she finds the idea stupidly attractive.

Okay, so it isn’t a _total_ blind date. They’ve met like… twice. Kinda.

One of those times she’d been half unconscious and pretty delirious –-she vaguely remembers asking him if it was hard to fit his ass in his skin tight suit-- so it barely counts. The other time he’d been very ‘ _yes ma’am_ ,’ ‘ _it’s a pleasure ma’am_ ,’ about the whole thing and he clearly hadn’t been paying much actual attention to her. Though she _had_ caught him glancing down at her breasts, so that was a good sign. Right?

Black Widow –-or Scary Lady in Latex, as Darcy likes to think of her-- hadn’t been wrong though. Going on a date with Captain America definitely has it's perks.

Steve is really, _really_ good looking.

Like, disgustingly good looking. Like, _panties, what panties?_ good looking. But he also happens to be a national icon who is also, technically, over ninety years old with a chip on his shoulder the size of Manhattan. Complicated didn’t even begin to describe his whole situation and Darcy’s life is complex enough with Jane, Eric, and a lumbering Norse god consistently dragging her into one world catastrophe after another.

But she’s woman enough to give it a shot, at least. Besides, living in New York ain't cheap and one learns to never turn down a free meal.

Plus he seems like a pretty decent dude, heroics aside. Maybe they could come out of the whole thing as unlikely friends. Buddies, even. Darcy is _really_ good at making dude friends. She’s much less good at finding boyfriends sans prison records or secret families.

Stupidly nervous, she puts on some bright red lipstick, pays the cabbie, and steps into the pretty low key looking bar with a definite ‘speak easy’ aesthetic going on like she’s ready for battle. Going on a date with an Avenger probably isn’t far off the mark, she figures.

She spots him immediately at the bar, looking like some fucking ad from the 1940’s, and she feels an anxious jitter that has nothing to do with how painfully awkward this whole thing is going to be zing through her. He’s rocking a tight white tee, fitted jeans, and brown boots with a brown leather jacket slung over the back his chair and he is so classically handsome that she seriously considers running for the door.

Only the thought of the Black Widow in some adjacent building with a sniper rifle focused in on her gets Darcy through the entryway and moving forward.

The bar isn’t very crowded and her heels are loud enough on the wood floors that he turns to look at her as she approaches. She can tell he’s as weird about the whole thing as she is, but his smile is kind and welcoming. At least he’ll let her down easy, she thinks as she gives him a small wave and immediately takes the seat next to him.

“Your idea or Natasha’s?” she blurts immediately in way of greeting, sweeping a hand to indicate the bar around them.

A slight smile. Jesus, his eyes are _blue_. Like so _fucking_ _blue_.

“Natasha’s. She tries to make me comfortable.”

“Are you? Comfortable that is?” she asks, forcing herself not to lick her lips nervously. It’s a seriously stupid question and she regrets asking it the moment the words leave her lips. Her dad always told her not to ask questions she doesn’t really want an answer to.

He takes a sip of beer –-Ew, Budweiser-- and gives a small chuckle. It sounds kind of weird, like maybe he doesn’t laugh very often. The thought makes her sad.

“I’ve been in worse places,” he says and there’s a small teasing bite to his words. The dude lived through WWII, she reminds herself, trying not to be totally weirded out by the whole thing.

The bartender interrupts and asks her for her drink order. Her mind briefly goes blank and she asks for the first thing that pops in her head.

“Sex on the beach?”

She immediately cringes. God, she is _so_ not a freshman in college anymore. The bartender doesn’t seem to give a shit, though, and sets about making her stupid drink while she quietly refrains from banging her head on the sticky bar.

Next to her, Steve has turned a bit pink. “T-that’s a drink?” he asks.

Darcy laughs nervously. “Ah, yeah. Haven’t had one since this awful, _awful_ frat party during spring break my freshman year of college. I spent most of the next day regretting my entire life. I kind of just panicked and ordered the first thing that came to mind. Heh...”

He huffs out another uncertain laugh and studies her curiously out of the corner of his eye, as if he's only just noticed her. 

“Um, I’m Dar-“

“Darcy, Darcy Lewis,” he interrupts. “I remember.”

“Oh- well, that’s nice, I mean good, that you remember me… yeah. Well, I mean I know who you are, obviously. I mean who doesn’t. Uh, well I guess no one really does, huh-“

_God Darcy, shut up!_

Thankfully her drink arrives and she shoves the straw in her mouth.

“So, uh, you work for Dr. Foster right?” he asks in a strained voice. God, she hates small talk.

“Yeah… ever since all that _drama_ in New Mexico.” The drink is making her feel a bet better and she runs a hand through her loose hair and tosses it over her shoulder. “Bastards still have my iPod hidden away somewhere.”

“iPod?”

“Yeah, like a record player… but without the record-“

“I know what an iPod is, I was just wondering why they took it.”

Darcy flushes, embarrassed and takes a loud sip of her drink. “Because they’re fascist assholes? Mostly I think they do it to fuck with me –Shit, I’m sorry, I curse a lot when I’m nervous.”

Another smile. This one actually reaches his eyes. “I noticed.”

Darcy clears her throat, rambling. “Jane once had to fake sick to get me out of this big meeting because I couldn’t stop saying fuck every other word.” She watches him take another sip of beer. “Can you even _get_ drunk?”

The smile is gone and he shakes his head, perfect golden hair gleaming in the dim lighting. God, he parts his hair on a perfect line, combed and styled, and some insane impulse demands she ruin it. Her fingers twitch on the bar and she tucks them into her lap.

“No. Not… anymore.”

She frowns. “Then why a bar?”

Steve snorts and drains the last of his beer. “According to Nat, this is how people ‘date’ now.”

Darcy is briefly distracted as she attempts to imagine the master assassin, Natasha Romanov, as just ‘Nat,’. She doesn’t quite manage it, but she is suddenly and acutely determined to show Captain _fucking_ America a good time. The poor dude looks like he needs it.

“Pft, only the unimaginative ones. Besides, most people find each other on Tinder or Facebook or something, so we’re already a step ahead.” She finishes her drink and gets to her feet. “Are you hungry, maybe? Have you tired sushi yet?”

He looks a bit confused but then his expression softens. “Yeah, I’ve tried sushi.”

Darcy is already feeling stupid standing there and she awkwardly tosses her hair over her shoulder again. Steve watches the movement with a familiar sort of interest that gives her a burst of courage. “Do you like it? Because I know this great little sushi bar near here, very chill, very authentic.”

He hesitates for a moment before quickly draining his beer and nodding. He slides a wallet out of his back pocket and pays the bartender in cash. Darcy opens her mouth to protest but he shakes his head with an amused sort of smile. “Don’t worry, Natasha insisted on paying.”

Darcy shrugs it off. They can go Dutch on their next date.

 _Next date?_ _Jesus, get a hold of your lady parts, Darcy._  

Once outside she starts to lose her nerve as he heads toward a really nice old fashioned Harley parked on the curb. He fishes a spare helmet out of some mysterious motorcycle cavity and turns to her with a smile that quickly turns into a frown as he reads her expression.

“We can take a cab if you’d rather,” he offers kindly and Darcy blushes.

“No, no, that’s fine. I’ve just, ah, never ridden on one before. A, uh, motorcycle that is. But you only live once, right?”

Steve quirks a brow, a smirk tugging at his full lips and it makes him look faintly dangerous, which does something stupid to her aforementioned lady parts. “YOLO, right?”

Darcy groans long and loud as she takes the helmet from him. “Don’t ever, _ever_ say that again.”

He laughs and it’s a warm sound. Like fresh baked apple pie and a balmy California summer. Damn, just being around him is making her feel more patriotic. She totally gets why they made him the poster boy for the war –-Darcy would totally be willing to throw herself into the line of fire for this guy.

“What, I didn’t use it right?”

Darcy scoffs. “Oh, you used it right. But you’re not a fifteen year old dude-bro so you’re not allowed to say it around me, those are the rules.” She puts the helmet on her head, only briefly mourning the loss of her careful curled hair, and fiddles awkwardly with the straps.

“You have a lot of these rules?”

“Oh yeah, tons. Like don’t ever say ‘ _don’t tell me how to freedom_ ’ unless you want me to screech like a pterodactyl. Or be super obnoxious about your dieting habits. Nothing makes me want to commit mass murder like someone explaining to me how bad a cheeseburger is for me.”

He’s grinning and shaking his head with a sort of bemused expression, like maybe he doesn’t know what to make of her but like he doesn’t really mind, and steps very close to her. He takes the helmet straps carefully from her fingers and clasps them beneath her chin. Her heart is suddenly having a very hard time not losing its shit.

 _It should be a serious crime to smell as good as he does. Like ten year prison sentence, minimum_.

He throws his jacket around her before she’s had a chance to recover and it’s just so totally _unfair_. No one should be allowed to be so disgustingly perfect, but, then again, this is Captain America. What had she expected?

Because Darcy has seen the world almost end about four times and can totally be brave, she slips her arms into the jacket sleeves, climbs onto the back of Steve Roger’s motorcycle, and wraps her arms around him. He’s solid and warm and real and she leans forward and gives him directions as he kicks the bike into life. Between the vibration and the feeling of him against her arms she thinks she’d been right before –-there’s a good chance she won’t survive a date with an Avenger.  

-

Steve can eat _a lot_ of sushi.

“So you actually kicked Clint in the, ah, _balls_ or is this another wild exaggeration?” he asks her as the waiter sets a fifth platter on the already crowded table.

Darcy snorts and sips her sake. She’s warm and a bit buzzed and thinks she might be in a lot of trouble because it feels like they both might actually be having a good time.  

The sushi place is loud and gives off the impression that maybe it hasn’t passed all its health code inspections, but it’s bright and lively and she’s glad she brought him here. He seems much more relaxed, squished against the wall in a chair that is maybe a bit small for him with cheap chopsticks confidently in hand.

“To be fair, I didn’t know who he was and he _literally_ came out of nowhere, what was I supposed to do?”

Steve laughs and it’s husky and intimate and she makes herself busy pouring soy sauce into her little dish and mixing a healthy portion of Wasabi into it. That seems safer than looking at him.

“I hear you’ve punched Tony in the face. A few times,” she says casually.

“Well, can you blame me?”

It’s Darcy’s turn to laugh and she doesn’t miss how he smiles in response. “I used to imagine what it would be like to hit him in the face with my clipboard the few times he visited Jane in the lab, but he’s been much nicer to me since the Clint Barton’s Balls incident.”

He stuffs a large piece of sushi into his mouth and shakes his head, chewing and swallowing quickly. “So you’re a scientist then?”

Darcy can’t help cringing a little at that subtle and unintentional reminder that her job is basically total bullshit. Jane keeps her around because they are basically best friends for life at this point and the ‘new’ Shield allows it because she knows too much to run around willynilly anyway.

“Did I say something stupid?” he asks, disgustingly kind and considerate, and she shakes her head, selecting something from one of the plates with eel sauce on it. Her favorite.

“No, just… I’m not a scientist, unless you believe Political Science counts which, you should know, nobody else does.”

He frowns, an adorable little crease between his brows and she eats her sushi as delicately as possible. She completely fails, of course, as soy sauce dribbles down her chin and she mops it up quickly with her napkin.

“So why work with Dr. Foster?”

She shrugs, taking another helpful drink of sake. “A bunch of reasons. Jane is my friend, she wants me around, she _pays_ me, and waaaay more than I deserve, you should know. She also needs someone normal around to make sure she does things like eat and drink and sleep.” He arches an amused brow at the word ‘normal’ but she dutifully ignores it. “And honestly there is no way Shield is going to let me go skipping off into the sunset after ah, everything I’ve seen. So I babysit Jane and watch _a lot_ of YouTube videos.”

Steve smirks. “YouTube… still trying to get the hang of all that. It’s all completely overwhelming, by the way.”

Darcy can’t help the wave of pity that washes through her but she quickly shuffles it away with a determined shove. She seriously doubts that Steve wants her pity.

“You know how to use a cellphone at least, right?” she teases lightly and he smirks, pulling a brand new iPhone out of his pocket. It’s got an Ironman case and she nearly chokes to death on a bit of tuna.

Steve grunts. “Tony glued it on.”

“Of course he did. Do you know how to text at least?”

“I manage alright. Though I don’t understand why people don’t just call each other. So much easier.”

“You sound like my grandfather,” she says and immediately regrets it.

She’s ready to throw herself on her dinner knife but Steve only laughs.

“Well, where I’m from phones were mounted on walls and you had to actually memorize phone numbers.”

“Just wait till you start using Snapchat.”

Steve frowns. “Snapchat?”

“Oh, my young Padawan, you have so much to learn.”

“Padawan?”

Darcy groans and jabs her chopsticks at him. “Please tell me someone has made you sit down and watch Star Wars.”

He chuckles, blue eyes bright and focused entirely on her. “Can’t say that they have.”

“You are not allowed to represent our country without seeing Star Wars. It’s sacrilegious.”

He eats another massive bite of sushi, somehow managing _not_ to dribble soy sauce everywhere and chuckles, the sound muffled. “Well, maybe you can do the honors. I wouldn’t want to let the American people down. “

A flush of pleasure washes through her. “It’s a good thing I am so patriotic.”

Something flashes in his eyes that reminds her lady parts that they exist again and he says, “A very good thing.”

-

Darcy doesn’t see Steve again for almost a month.

But, despite his whining, they text. Occasionally at first, just little jokes and questions here and there, but then they are texting _a lot_.

She sends him stupid GIFs and memes and random facts about her day and he sends her pictures from around the world and complains about how Tony keeps replacing all his boxers with American Flag ones and about how Thor has been making a habit of stopping into every bar and tavern they pass and buying everyone within rounds and rounds of drinks. She doesn’t tell Jane this last bit because she is acutely aware of the phrase ‘don’t kill the messenger’ and why it exists.

Their conversations never step beyond the bounds of friendship and Darcy becomes very good at convincing herself that she isn’t _super_ disappointed. Jane spends the week after ‘The Date’ teasing her and grilling her with questions, but eventually gives up, distracted, as always, by _science_. 

When Darcy does finally see him again she’s in the giant shared kitchen of Stark Tower, making Jane lunch and singing loudly to Adele. He appears around the corner, dressed in his uniform sans head gear, and she screeches loudly and drops the plastic bowl in her hands. Pancake batter goes _everywhere_ , including his star-spangled boots.

“Jesus Christ, I am _so_ fucking sorry. Jarvis! Stop the music please!”

“Of course, Miss Lewis. There is a mop in the storage cupboard near the elevator.”

She wishes some evil villain would choose that moment to destroy Stark Tower or something as she grabs an entire roll of paper towels and falls to her knees to start cleaning the sticky mess.

Steve is laughing, of course. That kind, affectionate laugh that says without words that it’s fine, and gets down to help her. She’s dressed in an old sweater and leggings with boots and her hair is in a sloppy bun atop her head, large glasses perched on her nose. So _not_ how she wanted him to see her on their next meeting.

“Pancakes?” he asks as she actively avoids looking him in the eye.

_Is it possible to literally ignite from blushing?_

“Uh yeah, for Jane,” she says lamely.

“Nice. Sorry for scaring you, by the way.”

Darcy snorts, getting to her feet to dispose of the first batch of soiled paper towels.

“My fault, I was kind of zoned out. Adele does that to me.”

She turns and Steve is still crouched, looking up at her with such an easy smile that she kind of just wants to push him down and kiss him into the ground. Which is completely stupid and dangerous for her health, and heart, really.

Instead she wets a few of the paper towels and kneels near him, swiping at the batter on his calves. He stops her immediately, of course, and takes over while she picks up the bowl and fetches the Swiffer, mopping up the rest of the mess. 

“So you’re, uh back,” she says when she’s done, dutifully getting more pancake mix out of the well-stocked pantry.

He leans against the counter, watching her. “Yeah, flew back early. Obviously.”

“Super-Secret Squirrel mission go well?” she asks, grabbing a few eggs and some vegetable oil.

He steps into her space, picking up the whisk from the floor and rinsing it in the sink before handing it to her as she mutters a thank you.

“Pretty well, yeah. A few scrapes and bruises but nothing serious. How goes science? Jane still trying to sleep under her desk?”

Darcy rolls her eyes as she cracks the eggs. “Oh god, last night I found her trying to hide out in the cultures freezer in one of the other labs. Woman has a death wish.”

“How’d you know to look there?”

Darcy grins broadly. “I didn’t. I keep my lunch in there sometimes.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up and she laughs long and loud. “I’m kidding, totally kidding. Jarvis told me. Jane is still referring to him as the Great Betrayer.” Steve is noticeably relieved.

There’s a semi-awkward silence before she blurts, “Do you want some pancakes? No trouble to make a few more.”

Steve grins and shakes his head. “Nah, I have a meeting with Furry in a minute, just came up to change.”

Darcy bites her lip, trying not to picture him shirtless and failing utterly. “Oh, oh okay. Well it was nice to see you. Glad you’re okay-“

“Hey, uh, did you want to watch those movies you mentioned this weekend? Assuming the world behaves for a few days.”

Darcy has to swallow an instinctively over enthusiastic response. “Uh, yeah, I should be free. Saturday night work?” she says as casually as possible as she begins mixing the batter. If her hand is shaking a bit she hopes he doesn’t notice.

“Yeah, Saturday is great. Is my place okay? I don’t know where you live… if it’s too far-“

“Your place is fine,” she blurts, only able to control so many impulses at a time and offers a sheepish smile. Her heart is doing some serious acrobatics in her chest.

Steve smiles too, running a hand through his hair in a show of boyish charm that has her thinking of kissing again. And maybe a few other things. 

 _Jesus_ , _did they_ have _to make his uniform so tight? How is anyone supposed to function around him?_

“Uh, great. I’ll text you the address. Maybe around six?”

“There are seven moves in the Star Wars series, you know. Though the three they made before this last one –-which was _amazing_ by the way-- barley count.”

His eyes go wide and he chuckles. “Well, we can make it through a few of them maybe and save the rest for another night.”

Darcy feels like doing a dance at the words ‘ _another night_ ’ but manages to refrain. Barely.

She wants to say ‘it’s a date’ but not wanting to jinx herself, she says, “Sounds good,” instead.

He gives her a bright smile, a small parting salute, and walks away. She doesn’t even try to stop herself from staring at his ass.

-

“Are you going to wear something slutty?” Jane asks on speaker phone as Darcy stares at herself in her foggy bathroom mirror.

“Slutty? Really Jane? How anti-feminist of you.”

Jane snorts. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Dude, with boobs like mine, _everything_ is slutty.”

“Fair point.”

Darcy starts brushing her drying hair, wondering when the last time she’d been so nervous for a not-date was. Probably her sophomore year of college when Hot Harrison from her Chem class asked her out. It had gone pretty terrible –-dude kissed like a fucking horse or something-- but that really wasn’t the point. It had been a long, long while since some guy had her freaking out over what to wear. Not to mention that the whole ‘Steve thing’ is the closest she’s gotten to kind of dating since the whole Ian in London thing went down in smoke and flames.

“I was thinking something casual but cute… something that says ‘I’m totally low maintenance and definitely didn’t spend over an hour putting on makeup and trying on twelve different outfits.’”

“Your ass looks great in yoga pants,” Jane offers.

Darcy considers this seriously for a moment and then sighs. “To Steve I bet yoga pants are like wearing panty hose without a dress in public. Maybe a cute, comfy summer sort of dress?”

“Oh! Wear the one with little cherries on it! Your boobs look _amazing_ in it, and it’s probably pretty casual to someone from the 40’s.”

“Dude that’s the dress I wear when I am trying to get laid.”

“Uh, and?”

“Fair point.”

-

She wears the dress because hell, she’s only human and she’s kind of wondering if maybe Steve is possibly a little bit gay. Not that that is bad or anything, well, except for her libido, but whatever. Only the previous cleavage glances give her any real hope, but to be fair, she’s gotten lots of straight women staring at her rack so maybe he just couldn’t help it.

The look on his face when he opens his apartment door kind of clears things up. The blush on his cheeks and the awkward hesitance in his voice a sure sign he at least sorta likes what he sees.

“I brought wine,” she offers standing on his door mat and feeling faintly feverish. “Well, mostly for me since, you know, it doesn’t do much for you.”

Steve clears his throat. “I like wine.”

“Super sweet wine?”

“I think I can handle it.”

She looks pointedly past his shoulder and he seems to come back to himself as he gestures her inside.

“Famous last words, Cap.”

She catches the faint wince at the pet name and wonders at it, making a note not to use it again.

“I thought about making dinner but I’m not much of a cook and I don’t know what you like.”

He’s following her toward the kitchen. Darcy is good at making herself at home in new places and she slips out of her little red flats at the door.

“Well, I am always a fan of pizza. Unless that’s not your thing.” She glances at him as she sets her purse on the counter.

A smirk tugs at his lips and she tries not to be distracted by the low slung jeans and white t-shirt peeking out from beneath a casual plaid button up. “I’m a New Yorker, Darcy, through and through.”

She _really_ likes the way he says her name.

“Fair enough. Nothing with pineapples or olives,” she warns and he fetches her a cork screw from a drawer and two wine glasses.

While he orders their pizza, she wanders. His apartment is nice but small and simple. Comfortable looking furniture, a massive T.V. and lots and lots of art books and drawings. There’s one of a dog sitting on the curb near a destroyed building and she’s a bit caught up in it. She touches the dog’s nose, wondering if he’d done it from memory or imagination.

“Something I saw in France… not, ah here.” Steve says, startling her, and she turns.

“These are seriously incredible,” she tells him and holds a wine glass out to him.

“Thanks… I wasn’t sure if you’d bring the movies, but I can order them off of Amazon Prime… or so Nat claims.”

Darcy gets another little trill of excitement at the idea of Steve talking to anyone about her, but she’s a little less flattered when she remembers that ‘Nat’ is the Black Widow. She upsets Steve and she’s got a lot more to worry about than awkward exchanges and drunk Facebook stalking.

“I brought them, they’re in my purse. We have to watch them in a _very_ specific order. The ones from the seventies first, then the newer ones. The most recent movie isn’t out on DVD yet but nothing a little illegal downloading won’t solve.”

He lofts a brow at her, sipping the wine.

She smirks. “Gonna turn me in?”

He chuckles, something flashing in his eyes but it’s gone before she can decide what it means. “Not unless the movie is really bad.”

“Fair enough, but if you think its a bad movie I’m not sure we can be friends.”

The pizza arrives fifteen minutes later and they dive in. They sit on the couch with the lights off, a respectful distance between them, but Darcy is hyper aware of him. Every smile, every shifted muscle, every breath. It’s almost maddening. They don’t talk much, which is both a blessing and a curse.

“Favorite character so far?” she asks as A New Hope’s credits run two-ish hours later.

It’s close to ten and she’s tired but not _tired_. She doesn’t want to leave, that much she knows for sure. His apartment is nice, but it feels lonely and she wonders if he’s ever had anyone –-girl or otherwise-- over before.

Steve thinks for a moment. “Luke Skywalker, I think.”

“Ha! I totally knew you’d be Team Luke. He’s all sweet and perfect.” She laughs, giddy off wine and his good looks and sweet smile.  

“Oh, and who’s your favorite?”

“Han Solo, _obviously_. Harrison Ford was seriously hot. I mean he’s still kinda hot in a Really Old Dude kind of way. I’d totally have his babies, just saying.”

Steve looks at her like she’s a bit crazy and that he kind of likes it. “It’s kind of late, are you sure you’re up for another one?”

 _I’m up for anything_ , _so long as you’re there_ some traitorous voice in her says and she smothers it with more wine.  

“Of course I am, unless you’re quitting on me already.”

His smile is slow and warm and it mixes with the wine in her throat. Swallowing thickly, she tucks her free hand under her thigh to keep from doing stupid like reaching out and touching him.

“Never.”

-

Steve is still in shock as she rinses their wine glasses and plates despite his protests. It’s after midnight and she’s a bit tipsy after drinking most of the wine by herself.

“I still can’t believe it,” he says with a rueful shake of his head, perfect hair falling in his eyes a bit.

“I know, right? Most infamous plot twist of all time.”

“Poor Luke,” Steve commiserates, leaning on the counter next to her and standing close enough to force her to pay extra attention to not breaking anything.

“Don’t worry, he’s gonna be a total badass,” she tells him and reaches for the towel near him, eyes darting to look up at him in time to catch the telling flick of his eyes darting from her chest to her face again. It’s too obvious for either of them to pretend like it didn’t happen, mostly because the hot flash of pleasure in her gut is too powerful to allow her to be all smooth and subtle about it. Smooth and subtle have never really been her strong suites, anyway.

Steve looks faintly mortified and like he’s about to apologize so Darcy blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Natasha says you’re not a virgin.”

Darcy has always been known to run her mouth, to put it politely, but after a lifetime of saying stupid things at the wrong time, this by far trumps them all. If Loki were to come barreling into Steve’s apartment at that moment to kill her personally, she would have counted it a wonderful blessing.

Steve, for his part, looks like he might faint or make a run for it. She doesn’t blame him.

“Uh, well, no-no I’m not-“

She cuts him off with her lips because, really, there is no way she is going to talk her way out of _that_ level of embarrassment. It's a bit awkward, leaning to her left with the dish towel in her hands, and she is only about seventy percent sure he’s even kind of into her. So she makes her kiss light, the kind that would be easy to pull back from if he wanted.

There’s a long moment where it’s just her and it’s easily the most intensely mortifying moment of her life, and then he lifts a hand, gently cups her cheek and leans into her. She drops the dish towel.

Darcy has experienced a variety of kisses in her twenty six years of life.

Sloppy and drunk, careful and slow, good and bad, and even indifferent. Kissing Steve is like none of those. He kisses her like maybe she might save him from himself. With an honest, desperate sort of enthusiasm that could only come from his unique life experience; from saving the world and waking to find it a totally different, but no less broken place. The slow tug and pull of his lips on hers is less a declaration of lust and passion and more an exchange of understanding and hope. Heat pools low in her belly, but it’s overshadowed by the ache in her heart as it beats counterpoint to his.

He pulls away and looks down at her for a long searching moment.

“Can I take you to dinner?”

“Yes,” she agrees so quickly it makes him smile.  She punishes him for being perfect by kissing him again. He doesn’t seem to mind as he bends into her, one hand curling into her hair and the other resting at a respectful place on her lower back.

“Tomorrow?” he asks, when they come up for air.

“It’s a date.”

-

She half expects the universe to say ‘fuck you Darcy Lewis, you totally don’t deserve this’ and ensure that some huge catastrophe manifests itself in less than twenty four hours, but she must have better karma than she thought because he shows up on time and the universe seems to be busy elsewhere.

He’d called to tell her, albeit a bit awkwardly, that she should dress nice, so she does her best. Jane had been excited enough about the whole thing that she’d even shown up to help her get ready. Jane willingly leaving her lab for anything not Thor related is _always_ a big deal.

“You look amazing Darce, seriously,” Jane tells her as Darcy grabs her clutch purse.

After much deliberation they’d settled on a black cocktail dress that was just lacy enough to be cute but not overly R-rated and her trusty pair of red pumps to match her lips and purse. She turns to find that Jane’s eyes are welling like she’s a mom sending her daughter off to prom.

Darcy snorts as she scoops Jane into a quick hug. “Don’t wait up for me,” she teases and Jane pinches her.

“Make good choices!” Jane yells as Darcy practically takes the stairs two at a time.

He’s waiting for her on the stoop in a fucking _suit_ and she kind of forgets to breathe. It’s fitted and well-made and he’s so beautiful that it’s unreal.

Fortunately he is too busy looking at _her_ to seem to notice and she’s basically got herself pulled back together again when he offers her a hand.

“You look great, Darcy. Seriously great.”

She feels like she could probably take on a couple angry aliens at that statement and beams at him. “Back at you, Mr.”

He leads her to an old school Mustang and she whistles. “1965?” she asks, running a hand over the black hood. Her dad had been really into old muscle cars.

He smiles, pleased, and says, “GT K-code Fastback. Or so I’m told. ”

“Sexy,” she anoints and he blushes like she thought he might. “Surprised it’s not red, white, and blue.”

“I try to keep a low profile.”

She bites her lip and can’t help but place a hand on his chest. His heart skips a beat beneath her palm. “You’re not very good at it,” she breathes and looks up at him.

His eyes are dark and full and, after a moment of hesitance, he reaches out to run his knuckles down her cheek, jaw, and neck and she’s worried she might actually start purring.

Rather than kiss her, like she really, _really_ wants him to, he takes her arm and leads her to the passenger side of the ‘Stang and guides her in before climbing behind the wheel.

“The restaurant was Tony’s suggestion, just to warn you,” he says as they take off and she smiles in the darkness.

“So it will be overpriced and probably in another language.”

“Probably.” His teeth glint in the street lights and she presses her thighs together, wondering if it’s possible to explode from sexual tension.

The restaurant, surprisingly, is just a good old fashioned Italian place with nice romantic candlelight and soft music and seriously kickass wine. Steve seems to want to write poetry to his Lasagna and he laughs and blushes when she composes a few verses for him.

They talk comfortably over desert and Darcy is practically humming with happiness. It’s easily the best date she has ever been on. And one of her previous boyfriends took her to Harry Potter Land at Universal Studios, so there was stiff competition.

“Are you close to your parents?” he asks, sipping the last of his red wine.  

“Well, just my mom now, but yeah.”

Steve flinches. “I’m sorry I didn’t know-“

Darcy rolls her eyes and laughs. “Of course you didn’t, silly. I was a hardcore daddy’s girl for most of my life, of course, but my mom and I kind of bonded after he died when I was nineteen.”

“Any siblings?”

“A younger sister. Blonde, beautiful, and relatively stupid.”

Steve laughs. “Come on, I’m sure she’s not stupid.”

“Becca learned at a disgustingly early age that you don’t have to try hard when you have a face like an angel,” Darcy insists, though her tone is affectionate. Her sister really is kind of stupid and seriously self-centered, but she loves her just the same. Misses her, even, not that Darcy would admit it.

Warmth burns in Steve’s eyes. “So what’s your excuse for being smart _and_ beautiful?”

Darcy blinks at him and then giggles. “Wow Steve, I’m impressed, that was actually pretty damn smooth.”

“I’ve been practicing.”

She quirks a brow at him. “On all the other girls you’re dating?”

He laughs and it’s as smooth as the whipped chocolate on their shared desert. “Nah, in the mirror mostly. Tried a few on Tony but that went a little _too_ well so I had to stop.”

She snorts in a totally indelicate way, making a mess of herself, and he takes the opportunity to knock her feet out from under her by reaching out and rubbing a bit of mousse from her chin, tugging a bit at her lower lip.

It’s insane how quickly he can send her heart into overdrive. His eyes are locked on her lips and his callused finger lingers like maybe he doesn’t want to let her go.

The moment is ruined as the waiter brings their check –-which Darcy insists on splitting and wins by invoking the name of modern feminism-- and he escorts her out of the restaurant, his hand perhaps a little lower on her back than is entirely necessary.

They are almost silent in the car.

It’s a charged but not precisely uncomfortable silence, however, like they’re each holding their breath in anticipation of something. She rolls her window down and leans back in the seat, closing her eyes as the city air washes over her. Not exactly a pleasant smell, but familiar and strangely electric against her skin.

She can feel his eyes on her like a brand, tracing the curves of her body through her dress, and she reaches out to rest a hand on his thigh because she’s faced down a number of angry Gods and she’s not afraid. Not really. Not anymore.

His breath catches and his muscles tense beneath her palm.

“Is this alright?” she asks huskily, not wanting to push him. Steve seemed like the kind of guy a girl could push. She watches with fascination as his throat bobs.

“Y-yeah.”

“Good,” she says, moving her hand inward and up.

He makes a deliciously strangled sound just before she can reach anything _really_ interesting, and snags her hand, pressing a hot kiss to her palm that really shouldn’t make her feel like she’s on fire, but totally does.

“Jesus, Darcy,” he breaths against her skin and she can’t help but wriggle in her seat at the intense burst of heat between her thighs. He catches the movement and drives a little faster.

When they arrive outside her apartment building, he hurries to open her door and helps her out. Coming from any other guy it would seem cheesy and like he was trying too hard,  but with Steve it’s natural and charming and sweet.  

They don’t speak at all as she buzzes into the building and she pulls him up three flights of stairs before he can protest, his palm perfect, wonderful, and hot in hers.

Outside her door she turns to ask him in because she’d be willing to give up just about anything to have him naked and on top of her, but he silences her by capturing her lips in a kiss that proves he _definitely_ isn’t a virgin. His tongue is hot and sure against hers and she whimpers into the sensation, throwing her arms around his neck as he tugs her flush against him. His body is practically thrumming with restraint, like he doesn’t quite trust himself not to ravish her, which is sweet but awful all at the same time. Between one stuttering breath and the next her back is up against the door and his hand skates a path down her side and over her ass to grip her thigh, urging her leg up and around his hips. A desire she is more than happy to fulfill as she rocks instinctively against him.

The sound he makes when she connects with the hard line of his dick is something she is pretty positive she will remember till the day she dies.

He pulls away gasping, her lipstick smeared across his face and she whimpers a protest that has him smiling fiercely against her neck as he holds her close.

“Y-you could come in… if you wanted,” she says, barley recognizing her own voice through the pounding blood in her ears.

He lets out a tumultuous sigh and slowly releases her, pressing his palms to the door on either side of her head and looking down at her. His pupils are blown wide and dark, his cheeks flushed.

“I’ve been doing some reading on modern dating,” he tells her in a voice that rumbles straight down her spine.

“Terrible decision,” she says, running the hand in his hair down the side of his face and neck. His pulse leaps beneath her palm.

“I admit, the whole Internet thing is pretty handy.”

“Super handy,” she echoes, completely distracted by the feel of his collarbone through his shirt.

“Darcy…” he begs, voice strained, and she looks up at him. “I want to do this right.”

She bites her lip and watches him watch her. “This doesn’t feel right to you?”

Steve sighs again, like maybe he’s carrying some invisible and terrible weight, which, she figures, he totally is, and rests his forehead against hers. His hand cups her face. “It’s complicated, Darcy.

Thor save her, she _really_ loves the way he says her name.

“Doesn’t have to be,” she whispers, less because she totally wants him to help her out of her dress and more because she wants to comfort him.

He’s right, of course, it _is_ complicated. She knew that on her cab ride to meet him at the bar, but she really, really doesn’t want it to be.

He smiles down at her, thumb rubbing along the slope of her cheek. “Be patient with an old man. Where I’m from, you married a girl before you went to bed with her.”

Darcy feigns an affronted gasp. “You thought I was going to _sleep_ with you? How dare you, sir, how dare you! I am a lady of _class_.”

He chuckles but his expression is warm and affectionate. “I want to see you again.”

“Then see me again.”

He kisses her slowly and carefully, like he’s trying to learn everything about her from the suction of their lips. “I want to see you again _soon_.”

Darcy nips at his lower lip. “Even better.”

-

Steve has to leave for ‘work’ two days later, but they keep in contact.

He’s pretty busy, but she gets an adorable good morning and good night text nearly every day for two weeks, and she’s basically floating through life. Four days after he leaves he tells her he misses her, and three more after that flowers are delivered with a sweet little note attached. Tony hand delivers them because apparently he finds the whole thing hysterical.

“Darce, we need to talk.” Jane says one morning over coffee. They’re at a little café near Stark Tower and the place is pretty empty, for once.

“Am I in trouble, mom?” Darcy grumbles, adding some more sugar to her mug.

Jane rolls her eyes. “I wanted to talk about your position… in the lab.”

Darcy stills, her stomach dropping. “Oh god, you’re totally going to fire me, aren’t you?”

Jane shakes her head and snorts. “Oh come on Darcy, you know I like having you around, but do you like _being_ around is the real question.”

“Of course I do! I mean, yeah, sure, I know next to nothing about astrophysics or whatever, but I get to hang out with you and the benefits are nice-“

“I’ve been talking to Tony and he thinks you ought to go back to school,” Jane interrupts. “I know you’d been hoping to get into Law School and he says he can make that happen, all courtesy of Shield, of course.”

Darcy flinches. “That feels a lot like charity.”

Jane rolls her eyes. “Oh come on, Darce. They totally owe you. They’re the reason you had to drop out of school in the first place.”

“Alright, that’s true. But still…  it feels like cheating, or something.”

“Darcy… you can’t be my assistant forever. I’m surprised you stuck around this long, to be honest.”

“Ouch, _harsh_.”

Jane throws a bit of her bagel at her. “You’re a driven, talented, and smart woman, Darcy. You deserve better.”

Darcy opens her mouth to say something sarcastic, even though she is totally touched by Jane's words, but the café chooses that moment to literally explode.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: WOW. Seriously, just WOW. You guys are just... wow. It's always super nerve wracking to write fic for a new fandom and you guys are just amazing. I am so glad you guys are enjoying this fic so far because I seriously love writing it. 
> 
> Second: Sorry for the cliffhanger! I originally planned to make this a one-shot but then got carried away... it seemed like the right place to cut things off... please don't kill me lol. 
> 
> Third: There be smut ahead, folks. Enjoy. ;)

Darcy wakes to cloistering darkness and says the first thing that comes to mind.

“ _Fuck_.”

It seems to really sum things up.

God, _everything_ hurts. Parts of her body she hadn’t previously realized existed ache and burn and she feels as though she’s been literally run over by a semi-truck. Twice.

Groaning miserably, she shifts a little and realizes there is rough cloth over her face and that her hands are tied uncomfortably behind her. She’s seated on some kind of hard, unforgiving chair and she can’t really feel her legs.

Despite being seriously disoriented, the pieces come together pretty quickly.

Every new Shield hire is required to go through a whole lot of mind numbing training that mostly revolves around the concept of ‘tell anyone about us and we’ll hunt you down and break you’ and Darcy had been no exception. As part of said training, she’d spent three entire days in a seminar designed to prepare her for a kidnapping or hostage situation. She’d also definitely slept through at least half of it. To be fair, she’d just gone through her week long self-defense course and was seriously exhausted and over the whole ‘secret agency’ thing.

She remembers enough, however, to be at least moderately concerned.

“Looks like she’s awake… finally,” a voice says from close by and she flinches away from it, heart a terrible drum beat in her chest.  A chair scrapes and there’s the rustle of cloth and a sudden wash of expensive men’s cologne that she can smell even through the hood.

Someone rips the cloth sack from her head, taking a healthy amount of her hair with it, and she blinks painfully against the sudden light. There is a man in a suit seated before her and another standing at her side.

“Miss. Lewis, it is a pleasure to meet you,” the seated man says.

“Fuck you,” she replies conversationally.

The man to her left administers a swift back hand that makes her see stars. It surprises her more than anything, however. Her younger sister hit a hell of a lot harder, but Darcy has enough forethought not to mention this aloud.

“Manners, Miss. Lewis.” The man in the suit says, motioning the walking ball of muscle at her side away.

They’re in a small room that is entirely empty save for the chair she’s tied to and the one her apparent captor is sitting in. She squints against the harsh light directed strategically into her eyes and finds her captor surprisingly handsome, with thick dark hair, a jawline to die for, and bright green eyes. He’s smirking at her like a total creeper though, which kind of ruins the effect.

“Ironic, coming from someone who blew me half to hell and has me tied to a chair. Not sure you’re the guy to run around being the manners police.”

He snorts lightly, studying her with unnerving curiosity. “I apologize if our methods were a bit… abrupt. You’re a difficult woman to get to, Miss Lewis. I suspect you have no idea that you’re under almost constant surveillance.”

Darcy glowers at him, not sure whether or not to believe him. “Where’s Jane? Because her boyfriend isn’t exactly the forgiving kind and he’ll totally mop the floor with you-“

“We have no interest in Dr. Foster,” Handsome Douchebag interrupts, smiling as though he’s amused at some private joke that’s at her expense.

Darcy can guess the punch line, though.

Douchebag opens a crisp manila folder in his lap and raises a picture she immediately recognizes. It’s a close up of she and Steve standing outside her apartment, his hand extended to her, looking like something out of a chick flick. There’s this soft, happy look in his eyes that makes her heart wrench. Douchebag lifts a few more pictures in silent procession: her arms wrapped around him on the back of his bike, her hand on his chest, him helping her into his car, and even one of them smiling at each other across a candle lit table.

“You’re really interested in my dating life, dude. Super creepy.” she says, feeling cold inside.

Douchebag sighs and tucks the pictures carefully away. “We’re more interested in Mr. Roger’s dating life, Miss. Lewis. Or should I refer to him is Captain America, hum? Bit pretentious, don’t you think?”

Darcy attempts her best wide-eyed and innocent look, a wash of dread churning in her belly. “I’m pretty sure I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“ _I_ am quite sure that you do, but that’s alright. We don’t require information from you, you’re merely meant to play the damsel in distress in a much larger production.”

“Acting really isn’t my thing,” she snaps. She’s a bit light headed and it hurts to take deep breaths.

His smirk widens, a dimple creasing his cheek. “I’m sure you’ll do very well.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “He’s not going to come running after some girl he went on a couple dates with, dude. This is a _seriously_ stupid evil plan.”

The guys stands and she can’t quite mange to hide her flinch as he nears her, casually brushing some of her tangled hair from her face. She resists the urge to bite him as his hand sweeps past her lips.

“We’ve been watching Mr. Roger’s quite closely, Miss. Lewis. He’s gone on a variety of dates with a variety of different women. You’re the first he’s ever taken on a second. Besides, Steve Rogers is nothing if not predictable. His sense of honor is hardly going to allow you to die for his sake, is it?”

He’s right, of course. Steve clearly has a _major_ savior complex. Whether or not he has strong feels for her or whatever, he’s totally going to risk his life to save hers. It would be idiotic if she wasn’t heavy relying on the impulse. Maybe she’s a bit selfish, but she really doesn’t want to die.

“Enough talk,” Douchebag announces. “It’s quite simple, really. Steve will either come for you, or you’ll die.” He motions Mr. Muscles forward, who roughly cuts her wrists free and hauls her to her feet.

Darcy rolls her eyes, legs barely holding her upright as she jerks against the hard grip on her arms. Muscles doesn’t even seem to notice. “Jesus, do they give seminars to potential kidnappers on how to be total unoriginal _dicks_ or something?”

Douchebag, predictably, does not respond.

Mr. Muscles half drags her through a dark hallway with a bunch of different closed doors as she swears and struggles feebly. The dude is seriously made of stone. He eventually tosses her into a small cell and slams the door behind her, scowling at her through a barred glass window. Darcy rolls onto her back with a groan, every muscle in her body protesting, and flicks him off.  He sneers at her before walking away. Darcy counts that as a win.

Lying on the cold floor, attempting to will herself out of the situation, she takes stock. There’s a blanket, a small pillow, a toilet, and a plastic jug of water on the floor near her head with an _actual_ Hotpocket on a paper towel beside it. This is faintly hilarious, actually, but her ribs hurt too much for her to manage more than a wet snort.

“Thanks, assholes,” she tells the emptiness after several long minutes of miserable and damning silence. “He’s definitely not going to ask me on a third date _now_.”

-

Eventually, Darcy eats the Hotpocket.

Its pizza flavored. Her favorite. Somehow this only serves to piss her off more.

Her little cell has no windows and standing on tip toe and peering into the hall only makes her feel worse. There’s only a long, dark hall with a few scattered and flickering bulbs and it feels very reminiscent of a Saw movie.

She will _not_ be sawing her leg off, thank you very much.

Aside from a split on her brow, a fattening lip, and at least one bum rib, she seems relatively intact. She’s going to have a shit ton of bruises though, and there are several large rips in her favorite pair of leggings, which makes her grumpier than it should, all things considered.

She’s almost sick with worry for Jane.

_She’ll be fine Darcy. Jane lived through some crazy alien possession and Loki’s bullshit, she’ll be fine._

She also has no concept of time. She paces, she mutters, she drinks some of the water, she takes a super awkward piss, and she even lays flat on her back and sings a Rihanna song as loudly and as terribly as she can, but eventually she curls up in the thin blanket and lays out on the cold concrete, napping fitfully. Being almost blown up really takes it out of you.

Hours or minutes later, she can’t really be sure, the cell door opens and Muscles lumbers in, hauling her roughly to her feet.

“Jesus dude, not so hard okay? I’ll come willingly or whatever,” she glowers at the man who looks at her impassively, tugging her out of the room as she stumbles to keep up. He looks like a flexed bicep with eyes. 

Douchebag is waiting for them after two more hallways and a long flight of steps –-fuck stairs, _seriously_. The room Muscles shoves her into is _much_ nicer than her cell. The sort of fancy boardroom she would expect to find in Stark Tower, with sleek furniture and wide windows. Covered in dust, dirt, and blood she feels seriously under dressed. She hopes she stains the carpet or something.

“Time to go, Miss Lewis,” Douchebag says and she notes he has a familiar black bag in one hand and a pistol in the other. Darcy swallows thickly as he steps toward her.

There’s a sudden rumbling boom and the ground beneath them shakes. A familiar red-caped figure zips by outside. Darcy feels a slow smile creep along her face.

“Oh man, you guys are _so_ fucked.”

Douchebag isn’t so happy and arrogant now as he hurriedly shoves the bag over her head and zipties her hands behind her back. “Parking garage, hurry.”

The next few minutes are some of the longest of her entire life. Her breath and heart are loud in her ears and she only catches bits of the conversation Douchebag seems to be having over the phone.

“…expected so soon.”

“Yes, yes, we are moving out now, we should be… I understand the risk-“

“…she’s completely dispensable, there will be other opportunities.”

“Well fuck you too, Douchebag,” she says and Muscles shakes her roughly to get her to shut up.

Tripping along, she’s eventually tossed into the back of what she assumes is some sort of creepy white van or maybe an armored truck or something. A heavy door slams shut and she’s alone again. An engine roars to life beneath her a moment later and she takes a few seconds to contemplate her life choices.

A few things stand out: If Steve doesn’t take her out again and fuck her brains out, she’s going to be seriously disappointed. And Shield or the Avengers or whoever totally _do_ owe her a free college ride, damnit. She’s totally going to law school on their dime if she makes it out of this alive.

She also realizes she knows how to get out of ziptie handcuffs.

“Thank yoooou Shield,” she mutters and rolls to her side, hissing as her chest aches horribly, but now isn’t the time for whining. She’ll do plenty of that later. Assuming she survives, of course. 

Tucking her knees up to her chest, Darcy manages to wriggle her legs between her arms –yay, yoga— and immediately rips the hood off her head, taking several deep, grateful breaths. Not that it does much good, its pitch black in the back of the truck.

She wriggles her wrists back and forth, sweating and cursing as the truck lurches along. It must be an old ziptie because the plastic actually snaps before she can manage to wiggle her wrists free. Which is good, because her progress had been pretty dismal.

“Ahah! Take that, douche faces!” she cheers, waving the broken zipetie in the darkness like a victory flag.

Her triumph is pretty short lived, however, as the truck lurches and almost flips, slamming her unceremoniously into hard metal. Her vision swims and her stomach turns ominously as the load doors fly open and bright sunlight pours in.

Blinking and groaning, she watches as a dude with too-long hair and a metal arm climbs into the back of the moving truck like it’s a totally normal thing to do.

“Come with me,” he says tonelessly, pulling her to her feet as the truck sways and starts to slow.

“If I want to live?”

He ignores her. She does not blame him.

They’re on a busy road with a slew of totaled cars in their wake like unwanted Hot Wheels somewhere near the Lincoln Tunnel, she thinks.

“Jump,” Iron Fist says, not looking at her thus missing her great impression of a goldfish.

“Are you fucking serious? No way, dude, I’m not made of metal like you apparently are-“

He shoves her out of the back of the truck as whoever is driving slams on the brakes. It’s actually not as bad as she thought it would be, but that could be because she knocked her head pretty hard against the asphalt.

She lays there, dazed and pretty sure she’s going to survive, hopefully, when someone hauls her up.

“I swear to god,” she groans. “If one more person throws me, I am going to totally lose my shit.”

“That’s the spirit,” a familiar voice says, and she blinks up at the smirking face of Clint Barton.

“Hey, it’s you,” she says lamely. “I like you.”

“You look like shit, Lewis.”

“Be nice to me, my head hurts. Actually, scratch that. My _everything_ hurts.” she whines as he holds her to his chest –which is actually kind of impressive because she’s no Jane Foster-- and carries her down the road a ways.

She’s super dizzy and really close to barfing, but she manages to turn her head and catch sight of a familiar figure in tight blue and red with a shield in hand. People are scrambling about behind him, most of them yelling and cursing, but she can’t take her eyes off of him.

Steve’s eyes look seriously murderous.

“Oh god, put me back in the truck,” she mumbles, clutching a leather strap across Clint’s chest. She feels more than hears his answering chuckle.

As they near, she can feel the sweep of Steve’s eyes across her, likely taking note of every scrape and bruise, his expression darkening even further. His jaw is clenched tightly when Clint stops and he won’t meet her eye.

“Was it him?” he grounds out. Darcy notes that there are spots at the edges of her vision, which seems bad.

“Yeah,” Clint says. “Nat’s still tailing the truck.”

“Alright, get Darcy back to base,” Steve says, glancing quickly at her face and away again.

“Aye, aye Captain.”

There are definitely more spots now, but as Clint moves to leave, she shoots out a hand and grabs Steve by the arm.

The self-loathing and fury in his eyes as he looks down at her almost stops her from speaking, but Darcy has been known to be stubborn. Besides, she’s not about to let him make her into some shitty martyr to take down their not-quite-a-relationship with.

“I swear to God, if you use this as an excuse to not take me out again, I will literally punch you in your perfect face, okay?” she tells him seriously.

Clint barks out a laugh as Steve looks faintly shocked, then pained, and then… a little amused? Maybe?

“Yes ma’am,” he says slowly, the barest smile quirking at the corner of his mouth.  Her vision is seriously swimming now and there are two of him for a moment, but she’s on a mission.

“Also, I would like a kiss because that shit was rough and I deserve one.”

She’s pretty sure Steve blushes –it’s hard to tell with the weird helmet—but, after a moment of hesitation, he reaches out with his free hand to smooth some hair gently from her face and dips his head to press a kiss to her bruised lips. It hurts, a lot actually, but it’s totally worth it.

“I want to go dancing and eat really fattening food and then we are totally going to bang,” she tells him firmly as he pulls away.

She passes out to Steve’s shocked expression and Barton’s cackling laugh.

-

“Darcy! Thank god!” Jane gushes, bursting into the medical room with tears in her eyes.

The small woman immediately throws her arms around Darcy and begins to sob. Darcy, who’s half naked, pats her friend awkwardly on the back while snaking an arm between them to cover her bared boobs. Fortunately her rib has already been fixed up using some crazy expensive looking device that her doctor had waved back and forth a few times while she cursed and whined because it felt like someone was stabbing her repeatedly with a butter knife. Begin able to breathe like a normal person was nice, though, and she’d even managed to convince him to use it on her mouth, too, because her lips had swollen to the size of a large fruit. Gross.

She wonders absently if the Avengers accept Blue Cross Blue Shield.

“You look pretty good for surviving an explosion,” Darcy says as Jane pulls back to scrub a hand over her tear stained face. There’s a bruise beneath Jane’s left eye and a cut on her cheek but otherwise she looks just fine. Her relief is so acute it actually stings.

“Broken wrist and leg, but Stark has a seriously amazing medical staff and they fixed me right up. Just have to take it easy for a little while. I’d go into detail but I know how you feel about ‘science’ speak.”

Darcy nods appreciatively as Doctor Hank, her new best friend because he gives out pain killers, smirks. They both help her pull up and tie her dressing gown while Jane practically bounces with concern and desperation for information. “Are you okay? Did they do anything to you? Do you know why they took you?”

“Well, it’s bec-“

“Because of me,” a familiar voice cuts in and Darcy’s eyes snap to the doorway. Her stomach drops as she reads the look on Steve’s face. Pissed doesn’t even _begin_ to describe it. She’d kind of been hoping he’d be a little less angry when she saw him again. Apparently not.

Jane blinks owlishly at him for a moment before looking to Darcy with eyes wide. “I’ll, uh, be back to check on you later, okay?”

Darcy nods, mouth gone suddenly dry, but she bends down to hug Jane again, the smaller woman’s arms tightening around her briefly before letting go and she hurries across the room. Steve offers Jane a curt, parting nod as the doctor approaches with clipboard in hand. Darcy fidgets.

Steve had taken the time to change, and shower, if his damp and rather mused hair is any indication. He’s wearing loose jeans and a tight blue t-shirt that makes her want to run her hands all over him. God, she hopes he isn't about to give her some speech on why it's too dangerous for them to see each other anymore more or something, even if he might have a point. She realizes, or maybe just finally actively acknowledges, that she's willing to put her life in danger for the chance to go on another date with him, to kiss and touch him and make him smile.

“Two broken ribs, a few minor bumps and bruises," Doctor Hank tells Steve, "and a fairly serious concussion, sir. I’ve mended the bones and sealed up the worst of the cuts, but she’ll need to be monitored for a few days due to the head trauma.”

Steve nods again, the motion a bit jerky as his jaw clenches and unclenches ominously. “Of course, doctor, thank you,” he grounds out.

Doctor Hank, a slim, graying man in glasses, glances uncertainly between them before saying slowly, “I’ll, uh, give you guys a little bit… I’ll be just down the hall if you need me.”

Darcy manages a feeble smile and a little wave of thanks as she clamors awkwardly down from the medical table. She’s tempted to run after the man, terrified of the impending conversation, but the door slides softly closed, leaving them suddenly alone. The silence and subsequent tension is as sharp as a knife and their gazes immediately lock. Despite the intense, almost murderous look on Steve’s face, she finds herself insanely glad to see him.

She wants to hug him. Maybe kiss him. Okay, definitely kiss him.  

“Before you say anything,” she blurts, holding her hands out between them as he steps toward her, eyes burning. “I meant it when I said that you better not use this whole thing as some stupid reason to say we shouldn’t see each other anymore because I would be seriously disappointed if I went through all of that for nothing. Also, it honestly wasn’t even that bad. Kind of like a really shitty private retreat with _really_ awful staff and piss poor food, but I’ve definitely stayed in worse places. Have you ever been to a hostel in Eastern Europe? Because let me tell you-“

Steve takes one long stride, catches her by the back of her neck, and crushes his lips to hers.

While not _precisely_ the reaction she’d been expecting, Darcy isn’t about to argue. She also makes a quick mental note, while her brain is still working, to thank Doctor Hank for fixing her mouth.

The sheer terror of the last few –days? hours?-- and the relief of being safe and relatively unharmed condense into a fierce and undeniable lust that they both seem to understand. Or so Darcy dimly assess as his tongue thrusts wantonly into her mouth and his hand fists tightly in her hair, angling her backward over the examining table and crushing her breasts against his chest. She gasps out a moan, acutely aware she’s naked beneath the thin hospital gown, and he growls. The sound, more felt than heard, has her hands scrambling desperately against his back.

All of her many bruises are totally protesting and she really, really doesn’t care.

“Tired of waiting,” he rasps against her lips as he pulls away for air. He nips at her chin before his mouth paints a hot trail along her jaw and neck. Darcy clings to him, blood thundering in her ears.

“Tired of missed opportunities,” he growls brokenly as her legs come to wrap about his waist and he presses her back up onto the table. His hips rock roughly against her, dragging a hoarse groan from her  as the hard line of his erection connects with her naked sex. The denim of his jeans is rough on her thighs and God, she’s fraying at the seams.

He tugs down one shoulder of the dressing gown with a jerk, pulling the tie at the back of her neck free, and her breasts pop free. “Tired of wanting and never having,” he breathes, eyes cast down, and his voice like gravel.

He dips his head and captures one nipple gently between his teeth, tongue flickering out, and she bites back a keening cry, aware that she probably shouldn’t be making so much noise even if she’s having a really hard time remembering why.  She’s having a hard time remembering her own _name_ with him laving and sucking at first one nipple and then the other.

A few moments later, once she's capable of getting her limbs to cooperate, she tugs at his shirt, half expecting him to stop her, but he practically tears it off and tosses it away. It’s seriously the best thing that’s ever happened to her. He kisses her again, probing and desperate and needy and she wonders if it’s possible to orgasm from just making out. She hasn’t been this turned on since… ever.

Her hands can’t seem to decide where to touch first and settle on everywhere. The ripple of muscles along his spine, the ridges of his abs, silently ticking off each member of his six pack and shivering at how perfectly _hot_ he is. If she wasn’t so out of her mind with desire, she’d probably feel super self-conscious, but he’s palming her breasts and rubbing at her harden nipples while sucking at her throat and it’s basically impossible for her to think at all.

“If you want me to stop-“ he half grunts as his hands suddenly shift gears and shove the bottom of her dressing grown up around her waist.  

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she manages, fairly certain she will actually die if he does. He rewards her with a low groan and his hands knead her ass roughly.  

He’s not entirely convinced, however. “You’re hurt… we shouldn’t…” he seems to be having a hard time completing a sentence. Darcy would like to think it’s because she’s biting and sucking along the column of his neck while her nails draw up the length of his back, but perhaps that’s narcissistic. Steve shivers, hard, and his hips rock into her again.

He has a point, though, not that it really matters at this point. Having sex with a concussion and a pretty impressive collection of bruises is probably not smart, but Darcy isn’t exactly known for her decision making skills.

“I want you, Steve,” she tell him breathlessly, tugging his ear lobe between her teeth. Want seems too tame a word. She’d be willing to commit several felonies if he would just get to fucking her already.

He curses. _Actually_ curses and holy _fuck_ she’s never heard anything so hot in her life. Her cunt aches with desperate need and she’s pretty certain she is dripping wet at this point.  

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he grinds out, his voice a total ruin, but one of his hands trails between her thighs in contradiction and his fingers dive down between her sodden lips. She buries her face in his shoulder to muffle her strangled cry of pleasure as her whole body arches toward him.

She’s pretty much beyond speaking now so she takes a fistful of his hair and yanks his head down for a sloppy kiss as his fingers probe and circle, finding her clit and paying it delicious homage.

“Jesus, Darcy,” he pants against her throat as he slips first one finger and then two inside her with almost humiliating ease. She whimpers and rucks against his hand, unable to help herself. Her orgasm is already _embarrassingly_ close.

“ _Please_ , Steve. I-I need this… I need _you._ ”

That seems to finally do the trick because he molds his mouth to hers as his free hand fumbles with the button of his pants. He doesn’t stop pressing his fingers in and out of her, however, for which she will be eternally grateful. In a frankly impressive show of multitasking, she helps him get his fly down and palms the hard length of him through his briefs and he moans into her mouth, hips rocking into her touch as his thumb moves to rub over her clit. His jeans fall to the floor with a clatter that she only vaguely registers.

“Shit,” she croaks, back arching and spine tingling. “I’m going to- God, just like that-“

His hand fists in her hair, baring her throat to him and he bites down between her neck and shoulder and she’s a total goner, moaning and calling his name as she flies apart. Any thoughts of keeping quiet are long, long gone.

She’s actually worried she might pass out for a second, the pleasure is so intense, but he holds her steady, petting her quivering pussy softly and kissing her brow and temple and eyes, muttering frankly _filthy_ words of encouragement. It’s simultaneously sweet and wonderfully sensual and she has the passing thought that she might actually be falling in love with Captain _fucking_ America, which is basically insane.  

When she comes back to herself, a boneless mass of total happiness, his briefs are gone and his dick is pressed against the fluttering mouth of her cunt. His restraint is clearly hanging by a thread, fingers digging into her hips in an effort to hold himself back, and his brow creased with strain.

She reaches a quivering hand up to smooth the line away and he looks at her with such desperate, almost guilty affection and need that she feels weirdly close to tears. He deserves this, she thinks. He deserves to want and to take and to have.

“I want this, Steve, I want you,” she reassures him once more and his eyes flutter closed with a long groan. He presses forward slowly, hips stuttering, still holding back, still unsure.

“I won’t be able to… I can’t-“

With truly herculean strength, Darcy lifts her legs and wraps them around his waist, looping her arms around his neck. “Shhh,” she breaths in his ear as he stretches her, fills her. “Let go. Let go and come for me.”

Steve buries his face in her neck, grips her ass, and half lifts her off the table as his hips snap into hers with wild abandon. Despite her bruises, despite the roughness of it, despite the fact they are probably seriously rushing things, it’s utterly perfect. The feel of him pumping in and out of her, the feel of his sweat slickened skin brushing along hers and the hot, panting brand of her name falling from his lips to scorch along her heart, is so perfect she’s pretty sure she actually _is_ crying.

He doesn’t last long and she doesn’t care, only wants him to find his release, to find some sense of pleasure and reassurance with her. He tenses, breath stuttering and entire body bowed forward as he jerkily pulls free of her and comes in hot, ropy streams across her stomach and thighs.

 _Oh yeah, condoms_ , she thinks vaguely but can’t bring herself to even get close to regretting it as he slumps into her. She takes birth control. They're good.

He’s trembling and she runs her hands soothingly up and down his back as he gathers himself.

But, when he pulls back a few moments later, she can practically read his thoughts. Fear spikes.

“Please, please don’t apologize,” she begs, gripping his arms. Her eyes prick traitorously. God, it’s been one hell of a fucking day. “That- that was amazing. It was _prefect_. Seriously. Wonderfully amazing and if you apologize I am going to totally lose it.”

Steve flinches a bit, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he braces his fists on either side of her before letting out a long breath, shoulders slumping. He rests his forehead against hers as her heart slows.

“I don’t regret it. I mean I do, kind of. Not _you,_ ” he gushes, clearly flustered. “But, well… I just, I wanted to take my time… the first time. Get to know each other a bit better, before… well.”

Relief and hope chase the fear away, for the moment at least, and she smiles, running a hand down his face and jaw, feeling the rasp of his five o’clock shadow. “We can take our time next time,” she hedges and she’s rewarded with a firm kiss to her brow. “Also, my favorite color is green, my middle name is Hampton –it was my grandfather’s name so don’t make fun of me- and I’m deathly allergic to avocados.”

His laugh is more a rumbling grunt as he lifts his head and smooths the sweat dampened tendrils of her hair away from her face.

He hesitates a moment before saying, “My favorite color is purple, my middle name is Grant, after _my_ grandfather, and I’m not allergic to anything but I really don’t like chocolate very much.”

Darcy gasps, affronted. “You don’t like _chocolate?_ How is that humanly possible?”

He smiles and it reaches his eyes, thank god. “Nat also finds it personally offensive.”

“Dude, the whole _world_ should find that personally offensive.”

His expression turns all warm and serious, which makes her stomach do a bunch of weird twists and dives, and he leans forward to steal a long slow kiss.

“I have to go,” he tells her, pulling away again. His hand is rubbing soft circles against her neck and she wonders if it’s totally insane to feel so much fondness for him already.

Probably, but fuck it.

“Yeah… I figured. I should get cleaned up and face down the embarrassment of all the noise we were just making.”

Steve’s fingers still and he coughs out a laugh, cheeks flushing brightly. God, he’s cute.

“I will be gone for a while… Bucky, the man who saved you, he’s, well, it’s complicated, but I have to find him.”

Darcy nods, biting at her lip to press back a wave of disappointment. He smiles, clearly reading her thoughts, and kisses her again.

“ _But_ when I get back, dancing and junk food eating, right?” he says with a smirk. There’s a flash of excitement and honesty in his eyes that lets her know that he means it, that he's looking _forward_ to it. Darcy has to seriously fight back a ridiculous giggle of happiness.

“That’s right. Oh, and I wouldn’t be opposed to more of this,” she motions between their naked bodies. “But hopefully in a bed.”

Steve stands, coughing into his hand and blushing again. “Deal.”

They spend a few awkward minutes getting dressed and cleaned up, not quite able to manage it without pausing regularly to kiss and hold one another, before Steve extricates himself.

“I’ll keep in touch,” he tells her firmly, attempting to flatten his hair and failing. He looks thoroughly fucked, and so, she suspects, does she.

“You better,” she says, equally serious, and he flashes her a cocky grin that makes her want to ravish him all over again.

He leaves with a parting little salute, another goofy and adorable smile, and Darcy leans back with a contented sigh, blissfully sore and battered and beyond tired. Being kidnapped, she thinks absently, might actually have been worth it.

Doctor Hank comes in a few minutes later, tellingly avoiding her eye and looking a bit red around the ears, and she has to bite back about a million inappropriate jokes.

He clears his throat. “So uh… I can prescribe birth control, if you ah-“ he starts, addressing the floor.

Darcy interrupts him by breaking down into a fit of howling, snorting giggles

-

Tony Stark shows up three days later to personally retrieve her college applications.

“Hey there... sport,” he says awkwardly, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans that probably cost more than everything she owns, combined.

Darcy rolls her eyes and sits up in her little bed. Doctor Hank claims she’ll be released tomorrow if her test results come back good. She’d seriously considered paying off the EKG technician because she was totally going stir crazy.

“Oh god, don’t. I can’t handle it if you start being all grossly nice to me and stuff.”

Tony perches uncertainly at the foot of her bed and lofts a brow at her with his arms crossed over his chest. 

He lets out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Thank god, I’m not good at being nice to people. Or so Pepper keeps telling me.”

“She would probably know better than most,” Darcy agrees.

“Soooo, I come bearing glad tidings. I think?”

Darcy snorts. “Super convincing.”

“Well, I guess they’re stipulations, technically. For the whole… free college tuition thing,” he waves a hand at her stack of meticulously filled out applications.

Darcy sighs, sinking into her favorite pillow, courtesy of Jane who'd been hovering over her like a worried mother hen. “Well, I guess nothing is free, eh? So what’s it to be, eternal slavery? My first born child?”

Tony claps his hands together. “Actually, I just want you to move in with slash work for me! Fun, right?!”

Darcy blinks, shocked. “Uh… I’m not really into the whole polyamorous, swing thing, but I’m suuuper flattered… I think?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Not to insult your ah, feminine _wiles_ , or anything, but it would be a purely professional arrangement designed for your protection and well, okay, Cap’s piece of mind.”

 Darcy groans long and loud. She’d kind of expected this, eventually. “God, you guys are totally going to fuck this up for me. We’re not even official or anything. Talk about pressure!”

“First, Steve thinks it’s a great idea, thank you very much. Second, he’s clearly super into the whole… you two… thing-“

“Articulate.”

“And third, you’re obviously a target for whatever remains of Hydra and it would be much easier to look after you if you were nearby.”

Darcy frowns. “So you really did have agents tailing me?”

Tony has the grace to look a bit sheepish. “Well, you _and_ Dr. Foster, to be fair. And it’s pretty standard for people closely involved with any of the Avengers.”

“I tased Thor, it’s not like we’ve got a side thing going on.”

“You’re his _friend_ , I think? Hard to tell with the big guy sometimes, but he seems to like you. We’re getting off topic. The point is, Stark Industries will pay to send you off to law school or whatever if you’ll agree to move into an apartment in the Tower and work for me in the meantime. Deal?”

“Work for you… how?” she asks, suspicious.

“Well, you _were_ Jane’s lab assistant so-“

“ _Hell_ to the fucking _no_.”

He glares at her petulantly. “Fine, Pepper could use another assistant.”

“Better.”

They study each other for another long moment.

“Sooooo this feels super weird and backward,” he starts, picking at her bedspread awkwardly. “But someone really ought to inquire about your intentions toward our fair Princess Rogers.”

Darcy snorts and a slow, devious smirk curls at her lips. “All bad, I promise.”

Tony looks terribly relieved. “Oh, thank god.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't decided if I want to end it here or if there is another chapter or two in me. I'll contemplate it over the weekend. Hope you liked!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-hospital sex Darcy. Ch-cha-cha-chaaaanges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damnit. So apparently I have at least two chapters in me because I was at 15k words and it definitely needed to be broken up. Sigh.

“So, at what point were you planning on telling me that you’re dating Captain America?”

Darcy blinks groggily at the alarm clock on her night stand, glances at her phone like she’s never seen it before, and curses.

“Jesus Christ, mom. It’s three in the morning!”

“Yes, and I’m looking at a picture of you, in the arms of that Hawkeye fellow, being kissed by someone who looks suspiciously like Captain America.”

Darcy rolls over onto her back and blinks up at her ceiling.

“What are you talking about?”

“Darcy, you’re all over my Facebook. People Magazine, New York Post, Huffington Post, they are all talking about ‘the mysterious girl that’s captured Captain America’s heart.’”

Darcy, who’s been back home from the hospital for all of one day, tries desperately to process what her mother is saying. It takes a minute for all the synapsis to fire, but when they do…  _oh boy_.

She snaps into sitting position and immediately draws her phone from her ear to check her news feed. Steve, bent over her prone form in Clint’s arms, is on the front page of the Huffington Post (‘ _Captain American Kisses Mysterious and Battered Woman_ ’ glares reproachfully back at her). Darcy’s face is pretty indistinct and what she can make out looks pretty abused and bloody, but her mother would definitely know it was her. Fortunately, no one else seems to have figured it out just yet.

“Holy shit. I mean…  _holy shit,_ ” she says casually, then with more feeling.

She can hear her mom speaking again and she dazedly presses her phone back to her ear.

“…swear, Darcy, you’re becoming a stranger. I can’t believe you wouldn’t at least  _mention_  that you were dating an Avenger. Do you have a death wish?”

“I like how you don’t ask why it looks like Mike Tyson punched me repeatedly in the face.”

A pause.

“Well, I assume if you were seriously injured someone would have called.”

“Thanks for the concern, mom,” Darcy says dryly and flops back into her pillows, mind racing. Steve is not going to be happy. She isn’t at all sure how _she_ feels about it, either.

Another long pause. “So… Captain America, huh? Is he a super soldier  _everywhere_?”

“Oh. My.  _God_. Mom! I am not having this conversation with you!”

In typical Lewis fashion, her mother is completely nonplused. “Would your babies be super soldiers? We could use some hand eye coordination in the family gene pool, God knows you and your sister-“

“We’ve been on two, count them,  _two_  dates so far, mom. Please don’t plan my wedding and come up with baby names.”

“You should bring him around for Thanksgiving!”

“Hanging up now, mom!.”

“And of course there’s Christmas-“

“Bye, mom!”

-

For the next two weeks Steve’s texts are pretty irregular, which does a serious number on her nerves and shaky self-confidence. During her little stint in the hospital he’d sent her more flowers –sans a sardonic Tony Stark—with a sweet note that assured her he was thinking of and missing her, but a week and a half later the flowers are wilted on her coffee table and she’s only got about four brief texts to keep her afloat. 

One morning, however, she gets an actual, physical letter from him in the mail. Darcy can’t remember the last time she’d gotten a letter that wasn’t a bill or junk mail. Or her Nana sending her a birthday card –she can’t help but smile as she realizes that Steve is seriously older than her grandmother. Because she’s a total coward, she brings it to the lab and sits frowning at the envelope where it rests against her coffee mug for about thirty minutes.

“You should probably open it,” Jane says eventually, looking like she’s just woken up and maybe hasn’t showered in a day or two, which is something that totally happens when Thor isn’t on the planet… or in the galaxy. Darcy makes a mental note to shuffle her science friend upto Thor’s apartment for a nice long shower.

“What if it’s a break up letter?” she reasons. “That seems like a pretty Steve thing to do.”

Jane rolls her eyes.“You think ignoring it is a better way to deal with it? Think how awkward _that_ would be when he comes back.”

Darcy glares at the letter, nervous butterflies stomping about in her stomach. “Maybe you should read it.”

Jane snatches up the envelope like she’s been quietly hoping Darcy might make the suggestion the entire time, and tears the letter open. Darcy feels an immediate pang of regret.

“ _Dearest Darcy_ ,” Jane reads, diving right in. “ _I know people don’t really write letters anymore, a real shame if you ask me, but it’s one of those strange random things from my old life that I miss. Not that cell phones and emails aren’t incredibly convenient and useful, but there’s just something personal and heartfelt about putting pen to paper, especially for a dame you’re head over heels for._ ”

Jane presses her hand to her heart and lets out a long ‘Awwww’ that prompts Darcy to try and snatch the letter from her hands. Jane is faster than her bedraggled appearance lets on, however.

“ _We had a pretty solid lead on Bucky for the first week_ ,” Jane reads on, dancing around the table as Darcy fumbles after her, “ _but the trail has gone cold again, and, alright, I’ll admit it, I’m feeling pretty disheartened. Nat and I are laying low in a motel I can’t name in a city I can’t divulge and I just feel tired. So incredibly tired. The thought of you back home and waiting makes it a bit more bearable, but also sort of nostalgic. During the war there was a girl, you may have heard mention of her, Peggy Carter? Who I felt like I was always leaving behind, always leaving waiting. Waiting for the right time, the right moment, the right way to ask her to dinner or to kiss her or hold her_.” Darcy nearly gets the letter, but Jane, in a frankly impressive move, executes a rolling tumble over one of the lab tables. Apparently she’s not the only one who’s benefited from the mandatory SHIELD training. 

“ _I still can’t help but regret that day in the hospital –rushing things like we did, but it’s also never far from my mind. The memory of your kiss, your touch, the way you said my name_ -“

Darcy is close to imploding at this point. “Jane, I will literally set this lab on fire, I swear to god!”

Jane darts behind a massive piece of machinery, grinning wickedly. “Stark will just build me a newer and better one! It’s getting to the good part!”

Darcy scrambles over a table, but Jane is already halfway across the room. For someone who remains almost completely sedentary and eats a diet comprised of mostly Pop Tarts and coffee unless forced to consume actual nutrition, Jane Foster moves pretty damn fast. It probably has something to do with all the alien invasions.

“ _I know we haven’t known each other long_ ,” Jane continues as Darcy plots about a thousand ways to exact her revenge even as each word makes something bright and bubbly in her chest expand.  _“But, and I never thought I’d say this, and I’ll deny it if you tell her, I’m glad Nat set us up. I’m glad I met you Darcy Lewis and I hope, despite everything, you’re glad you met me.”_

Jane practically swoons and Darcy finally manages to apprehend the letter, face burning. 

“You know I’m going to murder you now, right?”

Jane is still swooning, lying back on a notes scattered table. “Totally worth it.”

Darcy, fighting off a wave of amusement,  glances at the letter and flips it over. On the back a note is scrawled in perfectly spaced and looped letters.

_You’re welcome, Lewis.-N_

 -  
Eventually, the media figures it out. Whether or not someone managed to correlate the blurry figure in the kissing photo with the dorky intern of Jane Foster’s involved with the insanity in New Mexico, or someone leaked the information, is unclear, but the consequences are pretty obvious.

“How long have you been seeing Captain America?” someone shouts over the mayhem of the crowd congregated outside her apartment. “Were you the cause of the pile up at the Lincoln Tunnel!?”

Darcy blinks, still half asleep as a dozen cameras flash obnoxiously in her face, before belatedly retreating back to her apartment to call Jane, who then calls Tony, who gets Pepper Pots involved. Shit gets real _quickly_ when Pepper Pots is involved.

There’s two impressive black SUVs outside her apartment with six security dudes in under thirty minutes. A tiny dark skinned woman who is almost the same size as Jane, leads her from her apartment to one of the SUV’s as the others hold the reporters at bay. Any concerns Darcy may have had about the small woman’s protection abilities are pretty quickly dismissed as the woman politely shoves a reporter out of the way and he careens into the crowd, taking three more people down with him. It’s magical.

“Impressive,” Darcy tells the woman as her new entourage piles into the cars again. Someone hands her a Café Latte with the perfect amount of sugar and she wonders if kissing Pepper Pots straight on the mouth would be frowned upon. Tony would probably be all for it.

The woman smirks. “Always a good day when I get to make the paparazzi cry.”

“You might be my new favorite person.”

“I do what I can, Miss Lewis.”

-

Perhaps as punishment, or just because the media gets how totally out of her league Steve is, they are not very kind to her.

“Captain America Has a Fat Fetish?! Are you fucking kidding me?!” Jane bellows from the lumpy Science Couch (so named because it’s quite literally traveled with Jane from one lab location to the next like some giant, smelly, lopsided dog).

“If it makes you feel better, feminist’s everywhere jumped on that shit  _real_  quick.  _Salon_  wrote a particularly scathing defense,” Darcy says, attempting to pretend that being called fat at worst and plus-sized at best by a huge portion of the media isn’t totally fucking with her self-esteem. She reminds herself that Captain America totally fucked her brains out on a hospital exam table and feels a little better.

“It’s like these people have no idea what tits and an ass are,” Jane continues to rage, hands flailing, and Darcy kind of falls in love with her a little bit more.

“Calm down there, mom, it’s no biggy. PR is already all over the story  _and_  I get a free ride to work every day  _and_  they bring me my favorite coffee.”

Jane huffs for a few more moments before saying, “Speaking of, why haven’t you moved in yet? I thought Tony made a royal proclamation or something.”

Darcy sips at her aforementioned coffee and sighs. “I managed to hold him off till the semester starts, though he sent me some rather smug texts after all the super flattering stories broke. Mostly I just like making Tony squirm.”

Jane rolls her eyes. “You’re putting up with crazy paparazzi to piss off Tony Stark?”

“Yes?”

Jane considers for a moment. “Alright, fair enough. Now let’s cyber stalk some of these writers and give their names to some of the new SHIELD’s hackers.”

Darcy whistles. “Smart, beautiful,  _and_  deadly.”

-

Darcy gets another letter a few days after her face is literally plastered on every news site and people she went to high school are tagging her all over social media (she deletes her Facebook and Twitter in a sheer panic), but this one is very brief.

_Don’t let ‘em get you down. Wish I could be there with you. Can’t use a cell for a while, I’ll try to write when I can._

There are several drawings included. One of Natasha asleep against a window while it rains outside, her mouth wide open. Another of the Falcon (she forgets his real name, which makes her feel relatively shitty) laughing brightly with tears of amusement in his eyes. The other two are of her. The first shows her sitting on the couch in his living room, her knees tucked up beside her and a soft smile on her face. It's so perfect she feels like she's back there, hyper aware of his every movement, practically humming with anticipation. The other is more… whimsical. He’s drawn her walking up a slight hill in a soft, fluttery dress with her hair down and fanned out behind her. One hand is reaching to tuck the hair out of her face and the other is reached back as if waiting for someone to take it. At the bottom is scribbled six simple words.

_This is how I see you._

After spending several minutes reigning in her emotions, and convincing herself she is definitely _not_ about to cry, she finds an empty picture frame, gently places the drawing of her inside it, and sets it on the desk by the window in her room.

-

Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, aka Almost as Skeevy as Tony, seems to deem her his new best friend and is basically in the lab at least once a day after she returns to work. Apparently boning Steve and calling him out while on the fringes of unconsciousness have finally earned his forgiveness for the Great Testicle Punch of 2015. Also, apparently there are cameras in all the hospital rooms and  _everyone_  knew exactly what went down in a certain exam table, which seems to have made her a hero in Clint’s eyes (“Anyone who can get Steve to let loose and be something other than a disgustingly perfect gentleman is a goddamn legend in my book”).

Jane glares at him basically the entire time he’s there, mostly because he has a habit of sitting on her notes, and bleeding on her floor, but they both basically ignore her. He eventually brings her a box of poptarts and some fancy coffee from one of his many mysterious trips and Jane is won over for life.

“God, I am so over Reek,” Clint whines as an episode of Game of Thrones winds down. “We get it, the dude’s life is miserable and shitty. Let’s move along.”

“Ugh,  _thank you_.” Darcy says, feet tucked up under her on the Science Couch. “I’d rather listen to Hodor monologue for an hour or Bran… be Bran than deal with more Reek.”

“You know, the Avengers have a communal entertainment room,” Jane offers with only a hint of exasperation as she compares a few slides.

“Yeah, but Tony sometimes hangs out in there,” Clint says, not looking up as he shoves a fistful of popcorn into his mouth.

Jane sighs heavily, but she joins them on the couch fifteen minutes later, snatching the popcorn from Barton and informing them that if Jon Snow dies, she will never watch another episode again. Darcy, who has read the books, wisely keeps her mouth shut.

-

A month and a half after her little disappearing act (and more importantly, a month and a half _without Steve_ ), Darcy glares across the table at Thor, who scowls back at her menacingly.

“Go… fish,” she says with a triumphant smirk.

Thor grumbles and curses, slamming down his hand of cards in frustration. Jane shoots him a look from where she’s standing across the lab, mulling over some recent readings. “Darcy, your potty mouth is rubbing off on my Asgardian boyfriend.”

Darcy smiles cheekily. “You’re welcome. Got any fours over there, big guy?”

Thor throws a card at her head and looks very much like a muscled blonde toddler. “You are cheating, Lady Darcy, and when I discover how, you will be most sorry!”

Darcy waggles her eyebrows, setting down her pair of fours alongside her other conquests of victory. “Don’t threaten  _me_  with a good time.”

Jane sniffs haughtily. “You are a terrible influence.”

“Correction, I am the  _best_ influence. Next week, I’m teaching him Black Jack. Alright, Hammer Boy, got any-“

The door of the lab opens and Steve strides uncertainly into the room, his hands shoved into a pair of low slung jeans. Darcy’s heart does an acrobatic leap into her throat and she freezes. Thor, generally oblivious to subtle nuance, immediately rises to his feet and bounds across the lab like an excited puppy. Jane doesn’t even look up.

“Captain Rogers! You have returned at last! I am sure Lady Darcy is most pleased to see you again!”

Darcy manages to lift a hand in greeting and makes a strangled noise that’s somewhere between a cough and a bark.

Fortunately, Thor embraces Steve with a slap on the back that would have sent a normal person straight through a wall, distracting him from Darcy’s apparent inability to form actual words. Steve returns the gesture, but his eyes are glued to Darcy who is having a hard time getting her body to respond properly to her mental commands.

“How goes your quest for your metal armed friend?” Thor asks, finally drawing Steve’s attention, who winces a bit.

Darcy draws in a wheezing breath. Jane gives her a concerned look, finally realizes other people exist and thus spots Steve, and smiles deviously.

“Not as well as I would like, but I’m not ready to give up just yet.”

Thor pats his friend on the shoulder with an understanding frown. “You will find him, I am certain of it.”

Steve nods gratefully as Darcy finally manages to get her brain in working order. Jane gives her a little push out of her chair, rolling her eyes, and Darcy straightens her sweater over her jeans. She hadn’t bothered to brush her hair this morning, only threw it up into a messy bun, and cringes to think what  _that_ must look like.

“I just came by to see Darcy for a few minutes,” Steve says and his gaze darts to her. “If you have some time?”

Darcy flutters a hand at him, wondering how he’s managed to get  _more_  attractive since the last time she saw him.

“I think I’ve destroyed enough Asgardian pride for one day,” she says thickly and Thor glowers at her.

Steve lofts a brow, but merely motions her out into the hall. Jane snickers and Darcy gives her the finger behind her back before slipping past Thor and Steve into the hall. Jesus, she can smell him. Familiar and warm and her pulse is already doing crazy dives and leaps. If he makes a habit of these surprise visits her little heart may not survive.

Darcy bites her lip, not quite able to meet his eye as he follows her out into the deserted hallway –Jane’s propensity to blow shit up earned her almost an entire floor to herself. Steve rakes a hand through his hair and rocks back on his heels, apparently just as nervous and uncertain as she, but about twelve times more attractive and charming about it.

“I loved the-“

“I wanted to see-“

They both flush and laugh, some of the tension easing. It takes a moment of mental calisthenics to remind herself that this isn’t just Captain America, this is Steve Rogers, and before the whole serum thing he’d been a normal dude. Under all the rippling muscles and near perfection, the little guy who’d blazed a trail of fake identities to try and join the war effort, is still in there. As if reading her thoughts, he flashes her a soft smile, one that makes something inside her melt and tremble, and suddenly it’s easy. So easy it almost scares her.

“Ladies first.”

Darcy’s smirk is a bit timid and she attempts to lean casually against the wall. “I loved the drawings you sent me. They’re amazing. I mean _seriously_ amazing, Steve.”

He flushes a bit. “Drawing is easy when you have such a beautiful subject.”

Darcy whistles, blushing in turn. “Smooth, Rogers, smooth. More practice?”

He shakes his head and takes a step closer to her. “Nah, with you, I don’t need practice.”

She draws in a shaky breath and finds herself reaching for him without consciously deciding to. Her body has definitely betrayed her in favor of the mouthwatering super soldier with a heart made of pure gold in front of her, and because her karma really must be better than she thought, he pulls her to him and hugs her tight. She feels almost weirdly overwhelmed, her eyes burning a bit, and she reminds herself for possibly the thousandth time that it is totally inappropriate to be this almost in love with him already. Inappropriate or not, however, she’s missed him and worried for him and over thought everything  _way_  too much, but she’s beyond happy to have him in her arms. She has a sense that he feels the same as a telling tremble creeps through him.

“I can’t stay long, but I wanted to see you. I..  _had_  to see you. Having a hell of a time getting you out of my head, kid.”

“Got a crush there, Rogers?” she teases breathlessly and she can feel his rumbling chuckle. She would very much like to take his clothes off, but she has a sneaking suspicion that somehow, somewhere, Tony Stark is watching them. Best to keep things PG.

“Just a little bit,” he replies, voice low and husky, breath painting heat across her neck. “See, there’s this dame. Great looking, of course. A real knock out.” Jesus, his 40’s speak is really doing it for her -if the sudden dampness in her panties is any indication. “Long dark hair, big blue eyes, and the kind of lips and curves that make a man forget how to breathe.” His hands smooth down the bow of her spine to settle low on her hips as he speaks and she arches into him. “But that’s not even the best part.  The  _best_  part is how her smile lights up a room, how she can effortlessly make the people in her life feel valued and understood, how she takes everything in stride and laughs in the face of danger.“

“Sounds like one hell of a girl,” she manages, voice a bit strained as she fights back a wave of emotion, and Steve pulls away to stare down at her. He brushes the hair from her face and leans in like maybe he can’t help himself.

“She is,” he mutters, eyes flicking to her lips.

“Anyone I know?”

Steve is smiling when he kisses her and she throws her arms up and around his neck with a little giggle.

It’s almost more a conversation than a kiss. Each dip of his tongue and ply at her lips a question that she is more than happy to answer while his hand tangles in her hair and her heart pounds wildly against her chest. From his brief messages and his super sweet letter, she knows, at least vaguely, how hard the last month or so has been for him. She can taste that desperation, that sort of hopeless drive on his tongue and she really wishes they weren’t in a hallway in the Tower so she could  _really_  comfort him. Like with a blow job maybe.

“You’re not so bad yourself, you know,” she mutters when he pulls away, bracing her forehead against his. It takes a lot of effort not to tilt her head and run her tongue along his ear.

“Oh yeah?”

“I mean, you’re pretty spry and cognizant for your age-“ she breaks off into a giggle as his fingers dance against her side and he kisses her again. Yup, definitely at least half in love. She is so totally screwed. Maybe her mom is right and she really does have a death wish, how else could she logically explain falling head over heels for a dude who gets shot at more than probably anyone on the planet?

“Age jokes, Lewis? You’ve been spending too much time with Tony.” His big, warm hands are rubbing soothing circles along her back.

“That’s what you get for leaving me unsupervised.”

He lets out a long breath and the smile fades on his face as he pulls back a bit more. “I didn’t mean to be gone for so long but-“

“Hey, I get it okay?” she interrupts, smoothing a hand down the side of his face. “He’s your best friend. I’ve stuck by Jane through two world catastrophes, so I get it, at least kind of. I’ll be here when you get back. Dating options are pretty thin on the ground right now anyway.”

He smirks and its borderline  _wicked_. “You a bit sweet on me, ma’am?”

Darcy hums, pressing up on her toes and hovering her mouth near his. “Call me ma’am again and I just might be.”

“Yes ma’am.”   

-

A week later she gets more drawings and she feels a bit better about her crazy, unbrushed hair seeing it in art form. She also appreciates the drawing of Tony in really terrible drag that she desperately hopes is inspired by real life events.

-

Natasha is terrifying at a deep, almost visceral level. The level where Darcy knows the other woman can break her arm in like, 2.5 seconds. Pepper Pots is intimidating in a real life powerful-lady-who-seriously-has-her-shit-together kind of way. Which is somehow worse.  

Darcy, who generally wears jeans with whatever t-shirt smells the cleanest to work, needs to go shopping  _stat_. Jane is definitely, perhaps surprisingly -given how little her sciency friend seems to pay attention to clothing or fashion or even shaving- on board. She actually squeals with excitement when Darcy begrudgingly calls her two days before her ‘interview’ at the tower with the world’s most powerful woman. It takes hours of looking, arguing, trying on clothes, and waaaay too much money, but it allows her to show up at the Tower looking at least like she  _kind_   _of_  has her shit together.

She sits in a really fancy waiting area on the 75th floor of the Tower and attempts to run through all the reasons she’d make a good assistant. The list is pretty short. She’s been Jane’s little lab helper for a few years, but that’s definitely different than helping arguably one of the world’s most important CEOs. Mostly her job with Jane boils down to making sure she eats real food, bathes on the regular, and doesn’t sleep at her desk more than once or twice a week. She has the sense Pepper Pots is likely to expect more.

The door across the lobby opens and a familiar dark skinned woman in a knockout skirt and red button down motions her in with a knowing smile. “Ms. Potts is ready for you now.”

Darcy offers the woman a high five, who returns it with gratifying enthusiasm and a saucy wink, and she feels decidedly better about the whole thing.  

Pepper is seated at her massive desk with the New York skyline behind her and Darcy has the very real sense that the city kind of bows down before this woman. Pepper rises immediately as the door shuts.

“Darcy, it is such a pleasure to finally meet you,” the perfect specimen of human woman says, taking Darcy’s hand and beaming down at her from her perch atop seriously killer heels that probably cost more than her parent’s house.

“Ah, it’s, uh, nice to meet you too,” Darcy croaks and flinches. “Sorry, I’m usually more articulate. Probably  _too_  articulate, according to my mother.”

Pepper is all smiles, which somehow only serves to make her feel more nervous, and she’s ushered to a swanky white couch that is too clean to be entirely comfortable. Her new friend, Agent Seriously Badass, comes in and offers them bottles of water. Darcy is just grateful for something to do with her hands as she twists the top off.

 “It isn’t every day someone turns down a job working for one of the world’s richest men,” Pepper says when Seriously Badass leaves.

 Darcy manages not to choke on the water in her mouth, barely. “Well, no offense or anything, but I have no real desire to jump from wrangling a crazy scientist to wrangling an even  _crazier_  scientist.”

Pepper laughs and it’s possible that she’s too pretty and perfect to look at for very long. “Tony was right, he was quite certain I’d love you.” Speaking of Tony, how in the hell did a wack job like that land a woman little Pepper? Boggles the mind, that’s for damn sure.

Darcy blushes. “Because I’m stupid enough to insult the guy who’s responsible for my paycheck?”

“I wouldn’t quite put it that way, but essentially,” she says conspiratorially. “I need someone with spirit, intelligence, and backbone. Someone who’s willing to fight the tough fights and who isn’t afraid of getting down into the thick of things. I’m rich enough and scary enough, thanks to Tony,” Darcy thinks Pepper Potts is definitely intimidating all on her own, but decides to keep that to herself for the moment, “That people have a habit of telling me what I want to hear. You seem to be rather unabashedly yourself, Miss Lewis.”

“Is that a nice way of telling me I’m a loud mouthed asshole?” Darcy asks, wondering, as always, at her sheer propensity for word vomit.

Pepper Potts, possibly unhinged after all her years with Tony, only smiles broadly, looking positively delighted. “A loud mouthed asshole who I would like to hire, if you’re interested.”

Darcy smooths her sweaty palms against her skirt that is very likely the cheapest thing in the room and consequently one of the most expensive things she owns, and chances a smile. “I would be honored to work for you, Ms. Potts.”

Pepper claps her hands like a kid who just got her Christmas wish, and presses a button on the side of the couch. A tiny cocktail bar rises from the coffee table. “This calls for a celebratory drink, don’t you think?”

Best. Boss. Ever.

-

Darcy’s new job is sort of like taking care of Jane, but with less Pop Tarts, more phone calls, and actual intelligent strain –oh, and more wearing of skirts, heels, and shirts without vaguely inappropriate pictures or band names. She kind of loves it, which she is sure gives Tony a ton more satisfaction than he deserves, but it’s pretty hard to deny the almost foreign sensation of real job satisfaction. Speaking of Tony; he’s more in her life than she’d anticipated, but Pepper makes it pretty clear who Darcy works for and he really only stops around to annoy and harass when it’s obvious that she will  _not_ be part of some crazy experiment, thank you very much. Darcy is actually growing a bit fond of the idiot, however, especially as he has a habit of making her new favorite boss (sorry Jane!) super-duper happy. When he isn’t making her want to throw him from the top of the tower, of course.

Pepper is a demanding, but fair task master, who seems to have a keen sense for the talents of her employees and how to exploit them. As Darcy spent so long in the labs, Pepper uses her partially as something as a liaison for Banner and Jane, who, despite all her sweet and encouraging words, clearly feels betrayed.

“But I don’t know  _how_  to organize my own files by myself,” Jane whines over lunch, which Darcy had thoughtfully brought down with her. Old habits die hard and Jane has let go of yet  _another_  assistant. This one apparently breathed too loudly.

“It was time for me to leave the nest, mother, you’re going to have to learn to file your own notes scribbled down on coffee stained napkins.”

Jane glares at her accusingly. “You left me for a fancy office and expensive coffee!”

“You’re damn right I did. But just think, as the unofficial Lab Liaison, I have a hardline into what does and does not get approved for funding. Weren’t you after some super high-tech centrifuge or something?”

Jane’s eyes narrow. “Supersonic-jet ring-down spectrometer.”

Darcy waves a hand dismissively. “Yeah, that thing. Well, maybe if you stop pouting at me, I can push the approval for it through the signature process.”

“If you’re trying to buy my forgiveness, Darcy Lewis, you should know that it is totally working.”

“You’re easy, Foster.”

-

Three days later, Darcy receives an unexpected visitor at her swanky new office.

“You want me to have drinks… with  _you_?”

Natasha nods sharply from the other side of Darcy’s brand new, already cluttered desk. She considers knocking the very cute, very ridiculous plushie of Captain America that Clint had given her across the room, but decides against it. “Yes.”

“Uh… sure?” Darcy manages, almost choking on the half chewed bite of donut in her mouth. She swallows and it’s like trying to swallow sand paper. It occurs to her that Natasha had been working with Steve on locating his metal armed buddy, but she can’t quite bring herself to ask questions. Yet.

“Excellent. I will pick you up at seven. I should warn you, there will be dancing.”

“Uh, great?” she says lamely and Natasha offers the briefest smirk before turning on her heel and striding off down the hall. She blinks, kind of dazed, and realizes she’s staring at the Black Widow’s ass. Super-heroes have top notches asses, in her defense.

“It’s  _probably_  not an assassination attempt,” Pepper offers helpfully from the doorway of her office. She seems vaguely concerned.

Darcy is kind of speechless so she takes another bite of her donut, contemplating the nuances of clubbing with a super assassin.

-

At exactly seven o’clock pm, Darcy opens her apartment door and gapes. Natasha looks like a pinup bombshell from the 40’s and Darcy has never questioned her sexuality so hard in her life, and this is post-mind blowing sex with Captain America, so that’s saying something. The master assassin is wearing a red dress with a plunging neck line and perfectly done up, matching lips.

She’s also frowning at Darcy. “You need to change.”

Darcy swallows and looks down at herself. Fitted jeans, black leather boots, and a sequin top. “Wrong kind of dancing?”

Natasha steps into her apartment, which is blessedly clean for once, and nods. “Wrong kind of dancing.”

They hop in the back of a black Mercedes ten minutes later, Darcy now wearing the same dress she’d worn the night she watched Star Wars with Steve, with a ton of pins and hairspray keeping a very daring hairdo in place –curtesy of the Black Widow, who patiently gives her instructions every step of the way. This lesson is clearly part of a grander mission that sort of makes her blush to think about.

“Steve has never been dancing with a girl,” Nat informs her as the driver takes off. “I’m sure he would enjoy you teaching him.”

Darcy swallows, flushed and nervous. “I’m not the most coordinated of people.”

“Steve is, given the right encouragement, and dancing is all about confidence.”

Darcy doesn’t argue the point. “How… is he?” she dares.

Natasha sizes her up for a moment. “Frustrated, tired, eager to see you again. He should be home soon. He needed some time to gather himself, the past few months have been very hard on him”

Her stupid heart gets all fluttery for a variety of idiotic reasons. “How did you know he and I would… you know, be into each other?”

Natasha drums her fingers lightly on the arm rest of her door. “Several reasons. You’re smart, classically curvy and beautiful, brash, irreverent, and messy. Everything Steve requires to loosen up and remember there is more to life than hitting things with his shield.”

Darcy isn’t quite sure if she should be flattered or insulted.

“Also, Steve looked down your shirt a total of twelve times during the debriefing after the Doombot fiasco and Steve is generally the picture of gentlemanly restraint. But, most importantly, you punched Barton in the balls.” Natasha graces her with a wicked grin that both scares and turns her on a little. “Steve is, historically speaking, a sucker for ball busting women.”

Confidence, huh? Darcy draws herself up; she can probably handle that, at least now that she’s coasting on the knowledge that Natasha Romanov thinks she’s a testicular crushing badass.

-

Darcy, unsurprising, is not good at dancing. She gets away with the whole ‘clubbing’ thing because it’s basically just grinding and humping your way across the dance four. 40’s swing dancing requires her to know actual steps and have rhythm and shit.

“You’re worse than I anticipated,” Natasha says with a slight frown as an actually super impressive live brass band plays in the background. The little tucked away club is pretty packed with a variety of people, some in period dress, others a lot more casual, but the Black Widow draws a lot of attention. No one dares to approach them, however. 

Darcy flinches and sighs. “I did try to warn you.”

Natasha, who’s just spent the last hour teaching her the basic step patterns in a relatively secluded part of the bar, sizes her up for a moment before taking her hand. “Alright. It’s sink or swim then, Lewis.”

Darcy squawks as she’s pulled from the safety of the back of the room toward the wild and spinning dancing floor. Girls in ruffled skirts are flipping and spinning everywhere and Darcy has never felt more out of her element in her life. Natasha seems entirely unperturbed by her reluctance, however, and draws her near the center of the room before turning sharply back toward her.

“Alright, close your eyes,” the other woman says, drawing her close. “And pretend I’m Steve.”

Darcy snorts and Natasha pinches her lightly as her hand slides smoothly to the small of Darcy’s back. Jesus, did all super-heroes smell amazing or was she just lucky? Uncertain, Darcy lifts a hand, places it on Natasha’s shoulder and closes her eyes. If she can’t feel safe in the arms of the Black Widow, who’s _can_ she?

“Let me lead and follow the music,” Natasha instructs and leads her slowly through the steps they’d just practiced. It’s pretty rough going for a few moments, but being a master assassin has definitely made her dance partner patient.

Feeling relatively foolish, Darcy decides to take Natasha’s advice. She imagines that it’s Steve’s hand at her waist, gently guiding her through the steps, holding her steady as she fumbles yet again. She imagines that it’s Steve’s tall, broad shoulder beneath her hand, warm and real and wonderful as she flexes her fingers lightly against it. Before she knows it, she’s _dancing_ , and Natasha is muttering a husky “good” in her ear as Darcy spins out and back in without a hitch.

The music rises and crests and they’re moving faster. Darcy, entranced and feeling oddly safe, doesn’t dare open her eyes as the spins grow more complex and the steps more urgent. With a final note from some brass instrument she definitely can't name, Nat effortlessly dips Darcy over one knee and she finally opens her eyes.

The people around them burst into applause, several people are taking pictures with their phones and Darcy feels faintly ill as Natasha easily draws her up and pulls her from the dance floor. Shots of whiskey are bought, she catches her breath, and her new friend smiles at her. A _real,_ honest to God smile that makes Natasha seem solid and warm for the first time and Darcy is totally charmed.

“So, think you’re up to learning more?”

Darcy drains her glass, slams it down, and smirks. “Fuck _yes_. I’m going to knock Steve’s socks off.”

“Think you’ve already accomplished that, Lewis, but it doesn’t hurt to have a variety of weapons at your disposal.”

Natasha shoots her a wink and holds out her hand in invitation. Darcy doesn’t hesitate to take it.

-

Two nights after her Dancing With The Stars moment with Natasha (who is now insisting that Darcy call her Nat and even asks her to get pedicures, _pedicures_ ) there’s a knock at her apartment door. With the fall semester looming, she’s finally getting to packing up all her junk, not willing to leave it to Tony and his ‘crew,’ and has to extricate herself from a mound of boxes in her short hall.

She’s not sure who’s she’s expecting –in the modern age of cell phones, most people text each other before arriving at someone’s door—but her life is full of much weirder things than random people showing up at her door at odd hours. It’s probably Tony, just come to vex her for no foreseeable reason. Her trusty taser is sitting proudly on a little table near the entry way, readily accessible.

She opens the door and says, hardly aware she’s speaking, “Yup, my life is definitely weird.” A pause, where she vaguely considers reaching for the aforementioned taser. “Please tell me you’re not here to kidnap and or shoot me.”

Iron Fist pushes past her and into the apartment without preamble or response. He’s wearing all black and his hair is way too long. “Sure, come on in,” she mutters, shutting the door behind him and tugging her faded black and purple robe tighter about her shoulders. At least she’s wearing yoga pants for once.

Iron Fist takes it upon himself to inspect every room in her apartment, which doesn’t take long, before speaking to her.

“Tell Steve to let me go,” he says in a sharp, otherwise toneless voice. His eyes are  _super_  intense.

Darcy swallows. “Uh… no?”

He frowns. “No?”

Darcy is definitely not as concerned about the situation as she should be, but she has a sense that, despite all evidence to the contrary, she has nothing to fear from the seriously strange man standing in her living room. “Yeah… No. As in N.O. spells  _no_. You’re his best friend, right? I thought I recognized you from somewhere. They have a whole section on you at the World War II museum in Brooklyn.”

Iron Fist glares. “I’m not that guy, not anymore. Bucky Barns is dead.”

Darcy sighs and moves to her little kitchen and decides she could use some wine, stat. “Listen, dude, I don’t think you get it. I haven’t known Steve for too long, but he seems pretty stubborn, so maybe you should just give up and talk to the guy.”

She fishes a cheap plastic wine cup she’d stolen from a birthday party out of a cabinet and pours herself a healthy portion of cheap Moscato. After a second of consideration, she grabs another glass. She looks up and Iron Fist is standing still as a statue on her pink and blue second hand rug, watching her.

“He needs to let me go,” he repeats as she steps back toward him.

Darcy rolls her eyes and shoves one of the plastic glasses at him. He seems rather surprised, or at least his cold, hard eyes widen a little bit, but he takes it, likely out of instinct, with his shiny metal hand. “You said that already. If you want to tell him that, be my guest, but I’m not going to be your messenger pigeon or whatever.”

“You’re his… girl,” he says, as if he isn’t quite sure what all the combined words mean.

Darcy takes a long gulp of her wine. It’s a Monday, for Christ’s sake, couldn’t stressful shit happen on like, a Thursday? Monday’s were bad enough on their own.

“I don’t know what I am. We’ve been on like, two dates, okay, there was that whole thing in the hospital after you saved me-" she coughs, flushing. "But that really isn’t the point. I don’t think there is anything I can say that will make Steve let you go. You’re like, the last thing in the world from his own time, not to mention his best friend, so I think chances are seriously slim he’s going to give up on you anytime soon.”

Iron Fist –okay, _Bucky_ \- glares at her for another long minute before slowly raising the bright pink plastic cup to his lips, complete with a motif of little dicks all over it, and drains it. He pulls a disgusted face and let’s loose a very long, impressed upon sigh. Poor guy looks wrung out and sort of like a lost puppy. Well, maybe a lost Rottweiler or Doberman or something.

“I just… I need some time to sort things out without him dogging my heels, alright?” There’s actual emotion in his tone now and Darcy feels a very real rush of pity for this man out of time, running away from probably the only other person on the planet who could understand him.

She thinks for a long moment. “Okay, I’ll pass on your little message on one condition.”

He’s back to glaring but Darcy is not intimidated… much.

“I’ll encourage him to give you some space… if you agree to write a letter once a month.”

Bucky flinches and turns away from her. “No deal.”

She shrugs and pulls her cell phone from the pocket of her robe. “Alright, well, I wonder how quickly Steve can get here if I text him-“

A very cold very metal hand gently covers her own and she looks up, totally startled by how quietly and swiftly he moved across the room. His eyes are pleading.

“I’ll write him letters, I… I just can’t promise how often. Deal?” His voice is quiet, strained, and incredibly sad.

Darcy swallows and nods. “D-Deal.”

Bucky smiles and its maybe one of the most heartbreaking things she’s ever seen, but then he totally ruins it by tugging her close to him and planting a wet kiss square on her lips. It takes her a few seconds to get a grip on herself, but when she does, oh boy.

With a cry she pushes at him and he chuckles low and dark, halfway across the room and already tugging up the window that leads to the fire escape. “Y-you total dochebag!”

Bucky slips a leg out the window and winks. “Tell Steve he picked a hell of a girl.”

Then he’s gone, leaving Darcy weirdly amused and pretty exasperated. It lasts for approximately ten seconds before she realizes she totally has to text Steve now. Poor guy is not going to be pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half way through the final chapter. And I mean it this time haha, I even have the ending and everything! Oh! You can find me on Tumblr now at pardonmymannerssir. Come harass/fangirl with meeeeee.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts, anyone?


End file.
